THE 
 
 STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS, 
 
 WHAT HE LEARNED AT COLLEGE. 
 
 'LO, THIS IS THE MAX THAT MADE NOT GOD HIS STRENGTH:' 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 WARREN & BLAKESLEE, 
 
 No. 164 TREMONT STREET, BOSTON.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
 THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 
 
 lu the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massa- 
 chusetts. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 Stereotyped and Printed by Rand, Avery, & Frye.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 A GLAD FATHER, YET A FOOLISH SON 5 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 THE THCE AND THE DECEITFUL WITNESS .... 21 
 
 CHAPTER LH. 
 THE POPULAR MAN 40 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN 59 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL 83 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 THE READY WHITER 109 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 PLEASURE WON AND HONOR LOST . 133 
 
 CHAPTER VHI. 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER 147 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 TOM'S SUCCESS 163 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT 181 
 
 2133678
 
 4 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD 212 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY 238 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 ABOUT DRESS 258 
 
 CHAPTER XTV. 
 THE EXHIBITION 274 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 THE DOUBLE Loss 200 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 THE FALLEN TREE 306 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND ins COMFORT 320 
 
 CHAPTER XVHI. 
 THE LESSON LEARNED 340 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 A LITTLE MORE ABOUT TOM 363
 
 THE STORY OP CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A GLAD FATHER, YET A FOOLISH SON. 
 
 "The folly of fools is deceit." 
 
 'YRIL RIVERS' father is a 
 happy man. It is Commencement 
 week at Eaton ; and he has brought 
 his promising only son to be entered 
 as a student in the college from which 
 he himself graduated twenty years ago. It 
 seems a delightful thing to him to be setting 
 the feet of his darling in the paths that his own 
 found so pleasant long ago. With the utmost 
 enjoyment he has been leading the boy about, 
 showing him the old town so soon to become 
 familiar, engaging him a room, making arrange-
 
 G THE STORY OF- CYRIL HI \' Kit*. 
 
 mcnts for his future comfort, and in the pride 
 of his honest heart introducing him to members 
 of the faculty and to old friends. But now he 
 has been forced to leave the lad in the examina- 
 tion-hall ; so, while the paternal shadow no 
 longer casts him into the background, so that 
 we could only discern Cyril the quiet, well- 
 mannered son, let us run in and take a look at 
 Cyril the individual. 
 
 There are so many youths scattered about at 
 the little tables, and they look so much alike 
 with their black coats and grave faces, you may 
 think it will be difficult to find him out. But 
 he has enough to distinguish him in a crowd of 
 compeers, even to eyes less partial than his 
 father's. Tutor Watchful, who has a good 
 memory for names and faces, can show us 
 where he sits. This worthy man has mentally 
 assorted those present into three sets. First 
 in his sympathies, at least there are the 
 " poor fellows," men who have come here, 
 some to work with one hand for the furnishing 
 
 o 
 
 of their brains, and with the other for daily 
 bread ; somo expecting to receive help from the
 
 A GLAD FATHER. 1 
 
 faculty ; some with the painful remembrance 
 of a widowed mother or fatherless sisters mak- 
 ing daily sacrifices to help them gain their 
 education ; quiet, plain men, whom poverty 
 leads along a straight path, out of which she 
 has cleared the diversions so tempting to youth, 
 and in which glimpses of sunshine are only to 
 be reached by climbing hard hills. Next are 
 those more fortunate in circumstances, if not in 
 nature and training, young men bred up to 
 intelligence and good morals, with tastes too 
 refined for excess, and with enough of correct 
 
 ' O 
 
 ambition to keep them from indolence ; yet 
 perhaps so the tutor sometimes fancies too 
 tenderly reared, too well used to paths of life 
 ready smoothed for their feet, to be prepared 
 for genuine labor and manly self-denial. Last, 
 there are the noisy fellows, riotously inclined, 
 who neither understand the purposes of study 
 nor the wisdom of obedience, nor will try to 
 find them out: they are, for the most part, 
 abundantly supplied with money, for what 
 poor man could afford to send here sons of so 
 little promise as scholars? and their self-
 
 8 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 indulgent, turbulent course will be as trouble- 
 
 D ' 
 
 si tine to their teachers and as unprofitable to 
 themselves as they can contrive to make it. It 
 chances that there arc three young men, very 
 fair representatives of these three classes, sit- 
 ting together near the end of the hall ; and the 
 
 o o 
 
 central one is Cyril Rivers. 
 
 He is a slender youth of seventeen, sits 
 gracefully at his desk, and is rapidly writing out 
 his task in translation. His forehead is high, 
 and eyes bright ; and though the other features 
 are somewhat small in proportion, they are reg- 
 ular and pleasing. His face shows amiability 
 and intellect. It testifies to its owner's good 
 ancestry ; for it has no roughness where passion 
 could hang a scowl, and no weak outlines where 
 sensuality might set its seal. His easy manner, 
 his correct language and pleasant voice, as he 
 speaks to the tutor, are evidences of gentle 
 breeding. His dress is a gentleman's, neat and 
 suitable, but very simple. He wears neither 
 stud nor scarf-pin, nor any other watch-guard 
 than a black ribbon. He would have had no 
 watch, but that his mother, thinking he would
 
 A GLAD FATTIER. 9 
 
 need it now more than she, had given him hers. 
 For Cyril's father is only a salaried man, a 
 minister in the small town of Shoreville ; and 
 the care of his children taxes his small income 
 to its utmost.. 
 
 It is plain that Cyril has come to the exami- 
 nation well prepared ; for while many a face is 
 pale with anxiety, or red with perplexity, his 
 is composed and confident. He goes through 
 the tasks given him without any hesitation, 
 and is at leisure to look about him with in- 
 terested eyes upon his neighbors and future 
 classmates. If any of them notice the easy 
 manner in which he is going through the ex- 
 amination, they call him a fortunate fellow. 
 Without doubt he is fortunate. If we look all 
 over the room we can not find another of the 
 one hundred there with brighter prospects. 
 He has strength, talent, and opportunity. 
 He is not rich; but what is that to one who 
 has grown up now, and does not care for toys ? 
 He does not want the pretty cane that pleases 
 one classmate, nor the costly beaver and gor- 
 geous necktie that delight another. Early cul-
 
 10 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 tare has opened his eyes to sec the greater 
 above the lesser good. He lias enough to buy 
 the keys of wisdom, books and teaching, 
 the means to make of his own mind a source 
 of treasure, a treasure itself, a polished 
 diamond, many-sided, full of light, a tool that 
 Avill cut its way to any desired possession. He 
 stands upon a vantage ground over some of his 
 fellows ; for he knows what it means, the use 
 he is to make of the four years that lie before 
 him. It elates him to grasp in anticipation the 
 power they will furnish him. Enlightened love 
 shields his life from every care while it grows, 
 and supplies it laboriously with every needful 
 enriching to develop it to a noble and fruitful 
 maturity. What more could a young man 
 ask, except the grace of God, to help him 
 make full use of such gifts ? 
 
 And that last and greatest need Cyril is not 
 ignorant of. Well might it put the crown upon 
 his father's joy and pride, that the boy, as he 
 grew up, had yielded to long and faithful in- 
 struction, and to his own clear perception of 
 the beautiful and good, and early enrolled him-
 
 A GLAD FATHER. 11 
 
 self among the professed disciples of the Lord. 
 If the act had been one of the mind more than 
 of the heart, if the lad had been so shielded 
 from temptation by a good disposition and care- 
 ful training that he had not yet begun to dis- 
 cover his unlikeness to the great Model he 
 admired or the extremity of his weakness and 
 need, that only his heavenly Father knew. 
 He had walked consistently in the sight of his 
 father's church these two years : no wonder 
 that neither of his fond parents saw reason 
 now to fear for his principles. 
 
 I sometimes think how little those words 
 mean "in good and regular standing" 
 with which we receive and dismiss members 
 from one church to another. We bow the 
 head in prayer, we sit together at the com- 
 munion-table, Sabbath after Sabbath, with 
 brothers and sisters, all alike in good and regu- 
 lar standing to our view. But God walks 
 among the trees in his garden ; and, though all 
 rise tall and fair to mortal eyes, he knows 
 which are undermined with rottenness at heart 
 or root. With him they are not all in good
 
 12 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 and regular standing. Some day there is a 
 sudden rra^h that startles the little community. 
 A whisper of dismay runs through it. Some 
 loud-crying sin lias been discovered, some 
 brother has fallen. There is a sorrowful won- 
 dering over him, and then his name is dropped 
 in silence. He is in good and regular standing 
 no more. But his downfall was not when we 
 saw it : it was long, long before, when he 
 suffered a little, just a little unsoundness, a 
 little covetousness, a little vanity, a little false- 
 hood, unrebuked, to dwell hidden in his heart. 
 
 But I have wandered from the examination. 
 We have looked long enough at Cyril : let us 
 glance at his neighbors. Upon his right sits 
 a sturdy fellow, broad-shouldered, large- 
 headed, with hands that seem more accustomed 
 to a plow-handle than a pen. He has hard, 
 homely, knotty features ; and they look more 
 knotted and twisted than usual as he labors 
 over the page of Greek before him. He is a 
 farmer's son, from the backwoods of Maine. 
 lie is older than Cyril, being twenty-one. No 
 one knows what induced him to take his little
 
 A GLAD FATHER. 13 
 
 capital of one or two thousand dollars to invest 
 it all, not in land or shop, but in himself. But 
 be sure he understands what he is about, and 
 will not fail of his returns. His preparation 
 has been hasty and poor ; but he has no time to 
 spare, and is resolved to force his way in upon 
 it if possible. Cyril perceives that he is hard 
 put to it, and looks upon him with kindly con- 
 cern ; but his neighbor being altogether too 
 much absorbed to perceive that, he soon turns 
 his attention elsewhere. 
 
 Upon his left, there is another in trouble, 
 and bearing it less wisely. It is Tom Raddon, 
 the son of a San Francisco millionaire. Two 
 or three years of schooling in the Eastern 
 States have somewhat tamed the barbarism he 
 brought from home ; but he may still be recog- 
 nized as the offspring of a community very 
 different from the one in which we find him. 
 He is tall, and has dark, heavy, and somewhat 
 scowling features. He is as gorgeously attired 
 as a young man can contrive to be, but he is 
 no dandy. He has a powerful mind, but the 
 want of early training hinders and perverts its
 
 14 THE STORY OF CYltlL RIVEIiS. 
 
 action. He lias a wonderful moral force of 
 will and courage, but he can not govern it ; 
 and ignorant impulses, generous or selfish, 
 drive him hither and thither at their pleasure. 
 He is not without an aim in life : he is to be a 
 politician, and some day to grasp and wield the 
 power in his native State. It was his father's 
 plan. " I have got money," the poor man 
 said : " he shall have station and power. He 
 is a promising boy ; he has got a will of his 
 own ; he stands six feet three inches high ; he 
 has got a thundering voice and a fierce temper. 
 I will send him to the East to be educated. 
 He shall learn to make speeches, to quote 
 Latin and precedents and the Constitution, to 
 talk about Solon and Socrates and such names ; 
 and then let him come home, and begin to 
 practice law here, and make himself heard. 
 1 have got money to back him for any office, 
 cost what it may. He's sure to succeed. I 
 shall see him in Congress some day, and per- 
 haps in the White House. He stands as good 
 a chance to be president as anybody." 
 
 Nevertheless, the examination deals severely
 
 A GLAD FATHER. 15 
 
 with this future ruler ; and Cyril sees him scowl 
 and hears him mutter oaths over his work. 
 We can not blame him for them as we might 
 another, for they were among the first words 
 he learned to speak. Cyril is sorry, and his 
 good taste is offended ; but he is not shocked, 
 for such expressions of vexation are so very 
 frequent in school and at play that he has be- 
 come sadly accustomed to them. At last, how- 
 ever, Tom looks up, and meets his friendly gaze, 
 and sees his finished paper. Then there is 
 some kind of swift communication between the 
 two. Cyril casts a furtive glance round the 
 room at the busy examiners, and in a minute 
 has transferred Tom's paper to his desk. 
 There is a whispered explanation of this line, 
 and that, and the other ; and the rough face 
 grows smooth, and Tom can not refrain a little 
 growl of relief and satisfaction as he takes 
 back his paper and proceeds with- his work. 
 As the day wears on, there is occasion to repeat 
 these maneuvers a great many times, more or 
 less flagrantly. Sometimes a whispered word 
 is all ; sometimes there is a whole problem
 
 16 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 worked out on Cyril's desk, and transferred to 
 his neighbor's. The reality of what he was 
 doing seemed not to occur to Cyril: he had 
 given such help, and seen it given, so many 
 times from boyhood up, the general opinion 
 among his associates never blaming, often up- 
 holding the deed as amiable and kind. He 
 could not tell how small he was when his 
 mother had taught him the terrible words 
 about " whosoever inaketh a lie ; " but he did 
 not stop to consider whether he could be 
 charged Avith such a sin in this easy, good- 
 natured little action. Yet what else but 
 " making lies " was he doing in putting his 
 knowledge upon Tom's papers ? One by one 
 they went into the professor's hands, bearing 
 their false testimony. They differed from the 
 falsehoods we are quickest to condemn, as hav- 
 ing no malicious motive ; but they were just 
 as baneful in their nature, inflicting both upon 
 the fabricator and the adopter an injury whose 
 tangling threads of consequence ran far on into 
 the future, and filled it with snares and traps 
 of stumbling.
 
 A GLAD FATHER. 17 
 
 The day, so trying to many, wears away at 
 last. Toward six o'clock all sit in suspense, 
 waiting for the distribution of the blue and 
 white papers which make known its results. 
 There are many who were sanguine this morn- 
 ning who are very downcast now, and many 
 who have been patient and composed who are 
 becoming nervous. Cyril suffers no anxiety, 
 but he is tired, and desirous to get away. Tom 
 Raddon is very restless, bites his nails, and 
 fidgets in his chair, and mutters his weariness 
 and suspense to his neighbor. The Maine man 
 is as resolute-looking as ever, though a shade 
 paler than this morning : if he has good reason 
 for discouragement, he will not show it in his 
 face. And now the grave tutor comes toward 
 these three, dealing joy with his white papers 
 and regret with the blue. There is one of the 
 latter for John Seelye, the Maine man ; and it 
 is sadly freighted with conditions, having, 
 moreover, written upon it the advice from 
 the faculty that he had better not attempt the 
 examination again without another year's pre- 
 paration. His case looks very desperate, but
 
 18 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 his mind is made up not to take that advice. 
 He means to have another trial at the end of 
 the two months' vacation. 
 
 Both for Cyril and Tom, there are certifi- 
 cates of their having passed the examination 
 satisfactorily. Tom is so overcome with 
 delight at his good fortune, that he almost 
 jumps out of his seat with joy, and can hardly 
 suppress the profane exclamation of astonish- 
 ment that rises to his lips. 
 
 And now the crowd begins to disperse. 
 There are mutual congratulations among the 
 fortunate ones, and words of friendly encour- 
 agement for those who have been less success- 
 ful. Cyril lingers a moment by the table 
 where John Seelye still sits, somehow inter- 
 ested in him, and curious to know the result 
 of his day's experiences. He makes some 
 little remark to him, and is answered pleasantly ; 
 but JoLn evidently is not inclined to enter into 
 conversation, and says he is waiting to speak 
 to the professors, so Cyril passes on. Tom 
 Raddon keeps close beside, and, when they are 
 fairly outside the door, seizes his hand, and 
 shakes it heartily.
 
 A GLAD FATHER. 19 
 
 " I'm your friend for life ! " he cries, sub- 
 limely certain that the announcement must be 
 glorious news for Cyril. " I'd no idea of get- 
 ting in without four or five conditions ! It's 
 the bulliest news to send to my father ! it's as 
 good as an extra hundred dollars a year for 
 me ; and it's all your doing ! " 
 
 Cyril modestly disclaimed so much credit. 
 He was pleased with the show of gratitude, 
 but would willingly have withdrawn liis hand 
 from the strong grasp that held it. He dearly 
 liked to win golden opinions from all sorts of 
 men ; but this was not exactly the fellow he 
 wanted claiming ardent friendship with him 
 just now. He saw men 'more of his own 
 kind near at hand.; and he wanted a chance 
 to make acquaintance with some of them before 
 they scattered, not to meet till the term began. 
 But Tom held him tight, and went on talking 
 loud and fast, expatiating upon his past history 
 and future prospects, his scrapes at school, and 
 his fears in college. Then there were mis- 
 chievous sophomores loitering about to watch 
 the new men coming forth from the hall, and
 
 20 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 to mock at them with jeering songs and 
 speeches. These incensed Tom, and Cyril was 
 obliged to use his best logic to prevent him 
 from challenging a fight. So at last they 
 passed out of the grounds together ; and, when 
 Cyril went home with his father, the only ac- 
 quaintance he had made among his future 
 classmates was Tom Raddon.
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 21 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE TRUE AND THE DECEITFUL WITNESS. 
 
 " A true witness delivereth souls; but a deceitful witness speak- 
 eth lies." 
 
 " He winketh with his eyes, he speaketh with his feet, he tcach- 
 eth with his fingers." 
 
 cT was the hour for the freshmen's 
 first regular recitation. With anx- 
 ious punctuality, most of Cyril's divis- 
 ion were already gathered near the 
 door of their recitation-room, talking 
 in low tones, making acquaintance with each 
 other. Some a little apart, with open books, 
 were at the last minute still studying. Among 
 these was John Seelye, who had got into col- 
 lege by the force of such terribly hard work 
 during the last eight weeks as few could have 
 endured. And now he will be obliged to work 
 just as hard to maintain his position. Cyril 
 was glad to see him again. Although he knew 
 so little of him, he felt a curious respect and
 
 22 TUE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 sympathy for him. He had an instinct that 
 this was a man whose liking and approbation 
 were worth having. He had never found it a 
 mistake to express any kindly feeling that came 
 into his heart ; and he meditated getting near 
 John when they should pass in at the door, and 
 expressing his pleasure at seeing him there. 
 But, while he was thinking of this, a heavy 
 hand was laid upon his shoulder ; and, looking 
 up, he saw his other examination acquaintance, 
 Tom Raddon. 
 
 " Halloo, old fellow ! " he cried, heartily 
 shaking Cyril's hand. " How are you. Glad 
 to see you ! " 
 
 " Thank you," said Cyril pleasantly. " I've 
 been looking round to see if I should find you 
 here." He did not say, however, that he had 
 experienced a little feeling of relief at not find- 
 ing him. " It begins to look jolly here," he 
 added, "now that all the fellows have got 
 together." 
 
 " Yes," said Tom ; but then looked down at 
 the Legendre in his hand, and seemed a little 
 doubtful. " If it wasn't for these things, you
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 23 
 
 know," he continued. " But I suppose you're 
 all right there : you found it as easy as fun. 
 "Well, I hope I'm posted too, this once : I'd 
 like to make a fair start the first day. If they'd 
 only let me have the figure ! They say they'll 
 only give a fellow the number of the proposi- 
 tion here to start upon. Old Easiegoe, where 
 I prepared, always used to let us have the fig- 
 ure. I don't know how I shall remember any 
 thing without it. I say," as the tutor made 
 his appearance, and the crowd moved after him 
 into the recitation-room, "if you see me 
 running aground, just give me a shove." 
 
 The -recitation was likely to go pretty smooth- 
 ly that day, of course. Almost all, like Tom, 
 were anxious to run well at the beginning of 
 the race. There was probably many a fresh- 
 man, with the unusual consciousness of know- 
 ing his lesson, who would have been quite disap- 
 pointed at not being called upon to recite. 
 But the tutor, understanding the state of the 
 case, seemed to light by instinct upon those 
 least likely to be fluent. Among the first 
 called up was John Seelye. He rose and gave
 
 24 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 the proposition correctly, though slowly, and as 
 if to bring out each word in its order required 
 a separate effort of memory. Then, as he went 
 forward to the blackboard to demonstrate, the 
 fellows near heard him take a long breath, as 
 if about to set himself to a very hard task. 
 He took the chalk and began well, proceeding 
 through the first half of the proof without any 
 trouble. Then came a part of the demonstra- 
 tion beginning from a new point ; and his mem- 
 ory could not at once recall the connecting link 
 that bound i.t to what had gone before. He 
 paused, looking disturbed, and knitting his brow 
 in the effort of thought to recall the lost idea. 
 Whether he would have been successful we 
 can not tell, for at that minute a good-natured 
 little fellow, who sat 'close by the blackboard, 
 whispered the words that held the hint John's 
 mind was in search of. He supposed, however, 
 that John did not hear them, from his behav- 
 ior. He laid down the chalk, and turned 
 directly away from the board. " I can not do 
 it," he said to the teacher, and returned to his 
 seat. His face looked somewhat dark and
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 25 
 
 severe ; for there was great regret, not unmin- 
 gled with anger, in his heart. His footing in 
 college was so precarious, every failure weighed 
 against his being allowed to remain. He was 
 sure, that, if he had been left to himself, he 
 should not have failed ; but, as it was, no other 
 alternative had been left him. He could not 
 proceed without making use of another man's 
 knowledge as his own ; and both pride and prin- 
 ciple were too strong hi his mind to let him do 
 that. No unlucky accident should force him 
 into deceit, even for all the benefits of the 
 whole college course. So what was offered as 
 a kindness proved a misfortune to him : but he 
 bore it in silence ; and no one in the class-room 
 knew how much vexation he was trying to 
 subdue. Cyril was sorry to see him fail, and 
 so was the teacher. The young man who had 
 prompted him muttered, " Stupid of him not 
 to hear ! " The proposition was given to 
 another, who finished it fluently. 
 
 Meanwhile Tom Raddou had been attracted 
 by a beautiful chronometer that one of his 
 neighbors had pulled out, and was intent upon
 
 26 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 examining it, asking questions about it of its 
 owner in not very subdued whispers. To that 
 lie probably owed it that he was the next man 
 called up. So much engaged was he, that he 
 was startled when aroused to the consciousness 
 that his name had been spoken, and rose to his 
 feet in some confusion. " Proposition twenty- 
 ninth," demands the tutor. Tom can not col- 
 lect his wits. He thinks he knew which one 
 that was a minute ago, but now it has slipped 
 from his mind. He looks imploringly down at 
 Cyril, who, as the fates would have it, because 
 their names follow in alphabetical order, is to 
 be his seatmate in class and in chapel for the 
 next four years. Cyril is apparently quite un- 
 conscious of Tom's perplexity. His eyes are 
 bent upon the white wristband which has 
 pushed itself down below his sleeve, and upon 
 which he is making a few swift lines with his 
 pencil. Now he changes his position, and 
 throws the hand with the exposed cuff care- 
 lessly down upon his knee. In the midst of 
 Tom's bewilderment his eyes fall upon it. Lo, 
 there is the figure of proposition twenty-ninth !
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 27 
 
 He catches the clew at once, and his presence 
 of mind is restored with his memory. He be- 
 gins and ends his recitation with perfect suc- 
 cess, and takes his seat with the triumphant 
 certainty that he has, as he expresses it, " made 
 a rush." The underhand help he has received 
 does not seem to take any thing from his satis- 
 faction with himself: on the contrary, he is de- 
 lighted with his quickness in accepting it, and 
 with Cyril's adroitness in offering it. 
 
 Well, there is again excuse to be made for 
 Tom. Who could expect him to abhor such a 
 little cheat, when from his very childhood he 
 had heard his father boast more over dishonest 
 profits than any other, and seen him chuckle 
 over the advantages he gained from the igno- 
 rance of poor John . Chinaman, giving him 
 drink in order to draw him into unjust and 
 cruel contracts ; but for that Cyril's guilt seems 
 the greater. There was no such palliation for 
 his conduct : the example set before him had 
 been shining white, the teaching faithful and 
 grave. Yet he, who knew the light, deliber- 
 ately put out his hand, and pushed his brother
 
 '28 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 farther on into the darkness. I wonder that 
 diagram, as he sketched it, did not illustrate for 
 him a moral instead of a mathematical truth, 
 and that he did not substitute words of a new 
 meaning for those Tom was reciting so fluently. 
 Why did they not run in his mind something 
 in this wise ? 
 
 Two sins whose motives are parallel, and tend- 
 ing in the same direction, are equal to each other. 
 
 Let A B, the desire of favor, and 13 C, the 
 wish to seem adroit and knowing, unite to form 
 
 my sin ; and let D E, the love of money, and E 
 F, the wish to seem generous, unite to form 
 Ananias'. Then, since A B is parallel to D E, 
 and B C to E F, and the sins they result in 
 alike tend to deception, those sins are equal, 
 and their capacity for sorrowful consequences 
 as great.
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 29 
 
 Perhaps you will call that a very strained 
 and fanciful statement ; but nevertheless it 
 seems to me the fact is as true as any in Euclid. 
 But Cyril had never trained himself to ap- 
 ply great principles to small affairs ; and evil 
 example and the desire to be popular helped 
 him to overlook what was wrong in such 
 habits as these. He did feel a little uncomfort- 
 able about what he had just done ; but that 
 was not so much because of its sinfulness as on 
 account of the fact that he had put another 
 bond between Tom and himself, when he had 
 not quite made up his mind that he wanted to 
 continue the intimacy. But he comforted him- 
 self with thinking that one could not have too 
 many friends, and that he could no doubt shake 
 off this one easily enough when he became 
 troublesome. 
 
 The recitation-hour passed away, and the 
 tutor's word of dismissal set the class dispers- 
 ing. Cyril was again looking toward John 
 Seelye ; but Tom had already got his powerful 
 arm about his friend's shoulder, and was pull- 
 in or him toward the staircase. Tom was eager
 
 30 THE STORY OF CTKIL RIVERS. 
 
 to pour out his exultation over his own and 
 Cyril's cleverness, and Cyril must perforce pass 
 on and hear it. But, before we go with them, 
 let us stop a minute, and listen to what John 
 Steelye is saying to the youth who sat beside 
 the black-board when John was trying to recite. 
 At the dismissal of the class he went across the 
 room, and took the lad by the button-hole. 
 There was great earnestness in John's face, but 
 not a trace of vexation now. He might have 
 come to express his thanks for a kindly inten- 
 tion, for all that his countenance showed to the 
 contrary. But he said, looking down from the 
 height of his six feet and his twenty-one years 
 upon the youngster of seventeen, " I want to 
 tell you something, my lad. Don't you ever 
 again, as long as you live, offer to help me, or 
 any other man, with a present of a lie." 
 
 Nollie Stavins looked at him in utter aston- 
 ishment. He could not at first comprehend 
 his meaning. 
 
 " Oh ! " he said at last, recovering from his 
 surprise. " Why, I just gave you a hint ! I 
 thought you'd be glad of it."
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 31 
 
 " Yes, I know ; but I tell you I can't be 
 glad to make show of another man's goods 
 for my own, whether it's his knowledge or 
 any thing else. You meant it kindly : I thank 
 you for that. But the next time you've got a 
 good feeling toward anybody, don't you let the 
 devil get hold of it for an instrument to help 
 make a cheat of you and your friends. You're 
 a traitor to it if you do, and go against the very 
 ends for which God gave it to you." 
 
 Stavins began to look serious, though not 
 displeased. " Ain't you too strict ? " he asked. 
 
 " No, I am not," safd John with decision. 
 " I love the truth always. I believe the man 
 that won't stick to it in every little thing, before 
 you know it his whole character will be un- 
 sound. If you'll remember that, you won't do 
 again what you did for me tO-day, nor you 
 won't be angry with me for speaking about it." 
 
 " I am not angry," said Stavins, who was an 
 earnest and well-meaning little fellow. " I be- 
 lieve you're right, and I'm glad you spoke." 
 
 Ah, if Cyril had only heard these words 
 of John, or rather if he had had such a spirit !
 
 32 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 If he, with such earnestness and uprightness, 
 had spoken like things to Tom Raddon, what a 
 happy thing it might have been for them botli ! 
 But, if we follow them as they pass out, we 
 find Cyril thoughtlessly laying more snares, in- 
 stead of making straight the path for his own 
 and his companion's feet. A number of the 
 young men had joined them, some attracted by 
 Cyril's bright face, and some by Tom's tall 
 figure and dashing dress, and the boisterous 
 spirits in which he was indulging. " Hold my 
 hat," he cried, " while I stand on my head, in 
 honor of that bully rush ! " 
 
 Some one caught the hat, and down went 
 Tom's great head, with all its black, shaggy 
 locks, into the green grass, while his long legs 
 slowly elevated themselves in air. A shout of 
 laughter broke forth at the absurdity of the 
 maneuver. " There," said Tom, picking him- 
 self up ; " I'll do that for you again whenever 
 you say, Rivers ! Did you see the cute way 
 he helped me out of a scrape, boys ? " 
 
 " No : how was that ? " asked the others, 
 greatly amused.
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 33 
 
 Tom seized Cyril's unwilling arm, pushed up 
 the coat-sleeve, and showed the diagram 
 marked upon the white cuff, explaining volu- 
 bly how much at a loss he had been, and how 
 it had helped him. They all listened with 
 laughing interest: there was not one who 
 seemed to consider the matter in any way a 
 serious one. 
 
 " It was cleverly done," said one. " I shall 
 be on the look-out for your wristbands, too, 
 Rivers." 
 
 " I should say," said another shrewdly, 
 " that was a trick which would serve one's self 
 as well as other people, eh, Rivers ? " 
 
 "I suppose it might," said Cyril, smiling; 
 " but I never tried using it in that way. It's 
 one I keep expressly to lend. It's not so good 
 as the one I keep for myself, which is to learn 
 my lessons ; but I can tell you another I used 
 to see at school that beats the wristband dodo-e, 
 
 O * 
 
 if you want one for your own benefit." 
 " What is that ? tell us that ! " cried Tom. 
 "Who's got shiny boots?" said Cyril, look- 
 ing down at the various pairs of feet clustered
 
 34 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 near him. Tom put forward one of his, and 
 showed a gigantic boot highly varnished. 
 
 " Just the thing ! " said Cyril, laughing. 
 " Rest it up there on the fence, will you ? " 
 
 Tom obediently mounted it to the top rail, 
 qitite regardless of jokes and laughter at the 
 expense of its size, some one calling it a 
 " guffin," and another bidding him take it 
 down just a moment so that he could get a 
 view of the chapel-clock. 
 
 " It's an understanding of the first order," 
 said Tom good-naturedly. 
 
 "Yes," said Cyril ; "and I'll show you how 
 to make it serve you better than the one you 
 keep in the upper story. See here, now ! " 
 and, producing a soft lead-pencil, he began 
 tracing diagrams upon the surface of the boot. 
 Then, turning it so that the light would strike 
 upon it, the dark lines were plainly visible. 
 
 " It's as plain as the book ! " cried Tom, 
 delighted ; " and no more chance of Agin's 
 seeing it than of his seeing what's inside your 
 head!" 
 
 You see," said Cyril : " you just take your
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 35 
 
 foot up in your lap, and appear to be examining 
 the make or the wear of your shoe, ami you 
 can be studying your lesson all class-time. And 
 when you stand up to recite, if you should be 
 looking thoughtfully down upon the floor, why, 
 there wouldn't be any thing very suspicious in 
 that, you know." 
 
 " I vow, I'll try it to-morrow ! " cried 
 Tom. 
 
 " And so will I ! " said another. 
 
 Cyril looked up, still lightly smiling, and yet 
 a little disturbed. " No," said he, putting up 
 his pencil : " I guess I wouldn't. I only just 
 showed you for fun. It used to make sport 
 among the boys trying it in the grammar 
 school at home. But I tell you it's a better 
 trick, and considerably less trouble in the long 
 run, to learn one's lessons : there's no danger 
 of its ever falling through, you see." 
 
 " Yes : that's all very well for you to say," 
 said Raddon ; " but I ain't smart enough to 
 learn that trick, so it's well you've got others 
 to teach me. I don't believe I should have 
 got here if it hadn't been for you ; so don't
 
 36 TUB STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 you think, now, the responsibility of keeping 
 me here kind o' rests on you ? " 
 
 " Nonsense ! I hope not ! " cried Cyril 
 hastily. "Come, don't let's stand loitering 
 here ; come on and pass ball." 
 
 He pulled a base-ball from his pocket, and 
 they went to another part of the grounds to 
 play. Cyril threw himself into the exercise, 
 and soon forgot the mischief he had been scat- 
 tering. 
 
 But it was not lost so quickly as it slipped 
 out of his memory. Two days after this, Tom 
 insisted on taking Cyril up to his room to show 
 him something. There Cyril found a huge 
 pair of boots upon the table ; and Tom, taking 
 them to the window, showed how neatly he 
 had copied out upon them all the diagrams of 
 his lesson. 
 
 " There I " said he triumphantly, " now I'm 
 prepared to make a rush. I can go down and 
 play billiards with an easy mind." 
 
 Cyril stood looking at the boots with a half- 
 smilc upon his face, but with a very uncomfort- 
 able feeling in his heart nevertheless. " You've
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 37 
 
 forgotten something, Raddon," he said care- 
 lessly. 
 
 "What's that?" said Tom. "I thought 
 I'd got them all there." 
 
 " Yes ; but what good will they do you 
 without the numbers ? You have not num- 
 bered them." 
 
 " Thunder ! what a fool I am ! " exclaimed 
 Tom. " I'm too stupid to do my own cheating 
 without the help of your wit. Where's that 
 book ? " 
 
 By this time the unpleasant feeling was 
 growing stronger in Cyril's mind, and he did 
 not assist in the search for the book among 
 the mass of things upon the table. 
 
 "Look here, Tom," he said: "never mind 
 the book. I wouldn't get the numbers : let it 
 go. You can learn to do without the figures 
 as well as any of us ; and, if you get used to 
 going on by such ways as these, it'll be awful 
 rough for you at examination." 
 
 Ah, Cyril ! with all the teaching you have 
 had, can you do nothing better than to urge 
 motives of policy so feebly ? If you had but
 
 38 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 a tithe of John Seelye's love of the plain prin- 
 ciples of right, and the least spark of his bold- 
 ness in proclaiming them, who knows how they 
 might lay hold upon Tom's untaught heart ! 
 But he will not heed your timid whisper of 
 prudence and caution. 
 
 He looked at Cyril in surprise, and then 
 scowled and grew sulky. " What ! have all 
 that trouble for nothing ? No : I won't. It's 
 well enough for you to say you would, and you 
 wouldn't : you don't need to. But I tell you 
 I can't learn to do without the figures : I 
 might study myself blind, and I should never 
 be sure of my lesson. And as for the examina- 
 tion, it may go hang ! " 
 
 And so saying, Tom angrily pitched the 
 heap of books upon the table right and left, 
 brought forth the Euclid, and slammed it down 
 with a bang, by way of letting off his irritation. 
 Cyril stood still a minute, and watched him 
 turning the leaves. He said to himself that he 
 had now, at all events, done his duty in remon- 
 strating with Tom, but that there could be no 
 use in trying to do any thing with a fellow of
 
 TRUE AND DECEITFUL WITNESS. 39 
 
 that description : one must just let him go his 
 own way. He staid a few minutes, till, by a 
 little pleasant talk, he had won him out of his 
 fit of ill-humor, and then went away.
 
 40 ' THE STOAT OF CYL'JL K1VERS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE POPULAR MAN. 
 
 " The blackslider In heart shall be filled with his own ways; and 
 a good man shall be satisfied from himself." 
 
 DAY or two after the events re- 
 corded in the last chapter, Tom 
 came and seated himself in Cyril's 
 room, evidently with some plan in his 
 mind which he wanted to unfold. 
 " Rivers," said he, " what are you going to 
 do about the initiation ? " He meant the so- 
 culled initiatory exercises, through which the 
 sophomores, some night this week, were going 
 to put the new-comers, tossing them in a blan- 
 ket, and playing upon them their practical jokes, 
 or forcing them, if they preferred, to " stand a 
 treat." 
 
 " Why, take it as it comes, I suppose," said 
 Cyril smiling. " I'm not afraid of a blanket.
 
 THE POPULAR MAN. 41 
 
 if it's a strong one, nor of sham coffins and 
 sepulchers, either." 
 
 "Nor J," said Tom; "but then I rather 
 think it's a more satisfactory thing to all con- 
 cerned if a fellow chooses to treat. I'd about 
 as lief be sitting down to a comfortable supper 
 of woodcock and hot oysters, making the fel- 
 lows happy, if they are sophs, as to be pitched 
 round the streets blindfold, very likely getting 
 mad, and stirring 'em up to haze me real 
 rough." 
 
 " Very wise of you too," said Cyril. " I'd 
 advise you to treat, by all means." He knew, 
 as no doubt Tom did, that the latter was a 
 marked man with the sophomores, both on 
 account of his noisy, boastful manners, and the 
 enormous wealth it was said he had at com- 
 mand. It had been resolved that he should 
 treat very generously, or be roughly handled. 
 
 " Then," said Tom, " will you go with me, 
 and make a joint thing of it ? " 
 
 " Why, no," said Cyril, much surprised and 
 somewhat discomposed at such a proposition. 
 " I can't afford to treat."
 
 42 TTJK STORY OF CYRIL J1IVKRS. 
 
 " Confound it ! " said Tom, " you know I 
 don't mean that. I just want you to come 
 along with me, and have it our treat, a joint 
 thing. You know how to do such a thing, and 
 I don't. You know how to make it a gentle- 
 manly affair; but, if it's only me, they'll act 
 like Injuns over a war-feast. If I've got the 
 'rocks,' can't you lend me your brains? I 
 can't manage it by myself: I shouldn't get 
 decent treatment for all my pains, and there'd 
 be some land of a row out of it. Why can't 
 you come with me ? " 
 
 " Because I can't," said Cyril slowly. But, 
 made in this way, the offer did not seem so 
 impossible to accept, and it was not without its 
 temptations. It would have been nothing to 
 him, but lately, to .have had it known among 
 the fellows that he was too poor to soften his 
 initiation with a treat, and help establish good 
 feeling between his class and the next higher ; 
 and, as we have seen, he had just acknowl- 
 edged it to Tom. But he had not done so 
 without a twinge of annoyance : his ideas were 
 lowering, with his aims, since he left his
 
 THE POPULAR MAN. 43 
 
 father's .influence. Cyril's uncertainty about 
 desiring to be named among Tom's intimates 
 had also vanished. He had not lived more 
 than seventeen years in the sordid atmosphere 
 of this world, without perceiving that there was 
 something magical in the name of a millionaire. 
 He saw that Tom, by virtue of his wealth, and 
 also of his high spirits and native strength of 
 character, was going to take a better social 
 standing in the class than Cyril had at first 
 thought possible. In the little college world, 
 he was going to be a man of some considera- 
 tion. It would, at least, be nothing to be 
 ashamed of to be ranked among his companions. 
 Then what Tom had said of the necessity 
 of his help both flattered and tempted Cyril. 
 Here was an opportunity of shining. Cyril 
 was conscious of social talents, of a ready wit, 
 and a sort of enthusiasm in sport that always 
 pleased. Moreover, it was true that he had a 
 gift at managing such sport, and could keep 
 order, as Tom said, where the latter's displeas- 
 ure and growling would be apt to turn the 
 whole affair into a wild riot. But, then, how
 
 44 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 could he let Tom pay for what was called their 
 joint treat ? lie was conscious that would 
 he unwise, if not disgraceful. 
 
 " If you won't join," said Tom, scowling, 
 " I wont have any treat. I'll stand the haz- 
 ing." 
 
 Cyril looked at his dogged, frowning face, 
 and was troubled. " They'll he rough on you, 
 Tom," lie said : " it won't do at all. They 
 know you're rich ; and it's said round among 
 the fellows that they expect a first-rate treat of 
 you." 
 
 " Confound 'em ! I don't care. If you do, 
 you might just come with me. I know one 
 thing : if they're rough on me, I'll show 'em 
 that, in a way they won't like ; " and Tom 
 pulled from his pocket a small revolver, with 
 shining silver ornaments and polished wood. 
 
 " But that is not fair ! " said Cyril, surprised 
 and alarmed. "I say, lladdon," reaching 
 out for it anxiously, " give me that to keep 
 till the initiation is over I " 
 
 " No: I won't; and, what's more, I vow I'll 
 have it in my pocket that night, unless you'll 
 promise to come to my treat."
 
 THE POPULAR MAN. 45 
 
 Cyril was perplexed and half angry. Tom's 
 willful hanging upon him and teasing him in 
 this way was, however, only the result he 
 might have expected from his unkind kindness 
 to him the day they first met, and since. 
 
 " Come," said Tom. perceiving his irresolu- 
 tion, " be friendly, and do a fellow a favor, 
 can't you ? " 
 
 " To keep you from hanging yourself! " said 
 Cyril, vexed, and yet laughing. 
 
 But Tom saw that he had carried the day. 
 
 "Exactly," said he. "And, now it's all 
 settled, come down and play billiards with us." 
 
 " No," said Cyril : " I brought some books 
 from the library two days ago that I have 
 hardly looked into." 
 
 " Oh ! " groaned Tom, between a sigh and a 
 yawn : " books ! I'm told I came here to read 
 books as well as study 'em. I went over to 
 the library, and asked the ' seed ' there to give 
 me something to enlighten me about the poli- 
 tics of this country ; and he told me I'd best 
 read somebody on common law, and some- 
 body on the Constitution, and somebody's
 
 46 THE STORY OF CYRIL HIRERS. 
 
 Thirty Years in the United-States' Senate, and 
 more besides. I said I'd take all he men- 
 tioned : how should I know some of 'em were 
 so big ? Gracious I I thought I'd never get 
 'em lugged up to my room. I'm bound to do 
 something to be the man my father expects ; 
 but hang me if I can go through all those, 
 besides the Greek and Euclid ! " 
 
 Cyril was amused, but he kept a sober face. 
 " It's good reading," said he. " I shouldn't 
 wonder if you liked it if you'd once set to 
 work at it. Better not go down to play bil- 
 liards, but just try the ' Thirty Years ' in- 
 stead." 
 
 " Better not ! " Is that all, Cyril ? Can 
 you not tell him why he'd better not? Tell 
 him here are four long evening hours given 
 to him by God ; that he lias had recreation 
 enough to-day ; that he bowled after dinner 
 when he should have studied his Euclid, and 
 played bazique in his room this morning when 
 he should have been writing his Latin prose, 
 and lounged away many precious minutes be- 
 tween the occupations of the day. Tell him
 
 THE POPULAR MAN. 47 
 
 that If ho wastes now these last hours, so full 
 of opportunity, before the nightfall comes to 
 end the chance to work, that if in them he 
 wears away in frivolous excitement any more 
 of the strength of the good mind God gave 
 him) dims in them the likeness it was made 
 to bear, his Father and Creator will hold 
 him fearfully responsible for the sin ; tell him 
 how he will himself one day grieve over the 
 irretrievable loss. You are not ignorant, 
 Cyril. Why will you not bethink yourself, 
 and tell him ? 
 
 But Cyril has no other word of warning 
 than his careless " better not ; " and Tom pays 
 no heed to that. He says there is going to be a 
 game for the championship in his club, between 
 the two best players, and that he must be 
 there to see ; and so he goes away. 
 
 The intimacy between these two, so unlike 
 in character, tastes, and breeding, grew fast in 
 the following days. Tom not only depended 
 much on Cyril, but he showed for him a sin- 
 cere admiration and affection that pleased and 
 flattered him, and was not without its effect in
 
 48 THE STORY OF Cl'RIL RIVERS. 
 
 causing a return of love. Yet by Cyril's help 
 Tom stood in a false position : he had got into col- 
 lege only half-prepared. Therefore he justly felt 
 that Cyril bore a sort of responsibility for him. 
 It would not have mattered much, perhaps, if 
 he had been at all industrious, if he even did 
 as well as he had resolved to do. But he could 
 not govern himself. Indolence and the love of 
 pleasure were too strong for him. There were 
 companions to solicit him to sports of every 
 kind, some of them very near to vice, and 
 poverty imposed on him no salutary check. 
 So the struggle to get a little farther toward his 
 aim, yet to live without the least self-denial, 
 was every day being fought over with him. 
 When he was threatened with too disgraceful 
 defeat, then he ran to Cyril for assistance. 
 Cyril sometimes tried to help him in a lawful 
 way, but oftener, being himself full of occupa- 
 tions, gave him his own Latin prose exercises 
 and demonstrated problems to copy, without 
 any apparent compunctions. 
 
 Whatever reluctance might have lingered in 
 Cyril's mind to join Tom in his treat vanished
 
 THE POPULAR MAN. 49 
 
 in the excitement of the hour when initiation 
 night came on. Tom, to make sure of his 
 plan, was in Cyril's room when the masked 
 sophomores invaded it in search of the " fresh- 
 men." What representations he made to them 
 Cyril cared little, at that moment, in the antici- 
 pation of sport. The two were blindfolded and 
 marched down the street together, lectured all 
 the way with mock counsels and absurd ad- 
 monitions, and obliged to answer impertinent 
 inquiries into the state of the freshman's purse 
 and wardrobe, and into his circumstances and 
 condition generally. Cyril was just in the 
 mood to make happy replies, full of good-na- 
 ture, yet keen and fearless ; so that Tom's dis- 
 position to grow foolishly sulky at being treated 
 like a juvenile was laughed away; and the 
 mirth of the whole party lost any element there 
 might have been in it of malicious teasing, and 
 became genial and friendly. Tom and Cyril 
 being taken into some restaurant, as they per- 
 ceived by the heat and smell, were seated at 
 a table, and commanded to make a speech of 
 welcome to their self-bidden guests, and to 
 
 4
 
 60 THE STORY OF CYRIL RI7ERS. 
 
 order tliem refreshments. This hitter duty 
 Torn performed with reckless liberality, order- 
 ing the choicest viands the house could supply ; 
 while Cyril, quite as ready for his part, climbed 
 upon a chair and began a speech. He knew 
 how to suit the taste of his audience : he had 
 entered heartily into the mirthful spirit of the 
 occasion, and he had a ready wit and fluent 
 tongue. He expressed his brotherly welcome 
 and his pompous offer of hospitality in an ab- 
 surd jargon of stilted and poetic phrases, min- 
 gled with Greek and Latin quotations, and set 
 off with the choicest college slang. It was 
 full of happy allusions to college jokes and cus- 
 toms and characters, and occasionally, under 
 high-flown compliments to the auditors, covered 
 some sly hit upon them which was too good 
 not to be pardoned. There were many other 
 parties of } 7 oung men in the room, all of whom 
 were attracted to listen ; and, when Cyril came 
 down from his chair, he was applauded with 
 cries of " Well done, Freshie ! well done ! " 
 " Bully for the Fresh ! " Tom and he, having 
 first been obliged to drink the health of the
 
 THE POPULAR MAN. 51 
 
 sophomore class, were then allowed to take off 
 their blinders, and condescendingly invited to 
 eat, drink, and make themselves at home. And, 
 as the feast proceeded, not all the sham dignity 
 of the little party could disguise the fact that 
 they found Cyril the freshman very good com- 
 pany. Toward the close of the evening, he 
 mounted the chair again, and, not having the 
 blinder this time to hide his bright eyes and 
 facile countenance, began describing the various 
 members of the faculty, in the act of express- 
 ing their strictures upon such demonstrations 
 as were setting the college in an uproar to- 
 night ; mimicking the anxious sigh of one, the 
 patient gravity of another, the sharp indigna- 
 tion of a third, and giving little oddities of 
 manner and figure, little tricks of speech and 
 tone, with so. much faithfulness that the de- 
 lighted young men could call out the name of 
 each one personified, as the actor made him 
 appear in his turn upon the stage. 
 
 . This put the climax to his glory and popu- 
 larity for the evening. Nothing could exceed 
 Tom's delight at the performance ; and the re-
 
 52 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 port of it gained Cyril great renown among his 
 classmates. lie became, from that evening, 
 one of the most conspicuous and admired 
 among them. But it was no good fortune. 
 So long as he had been comparatively unknown, 
 there had been no great temptation to lead him 
 to deviate from the regular habits of reading 
 and study which his own taste and ambition 
 had led him to establish. But now his room 
 began to be sought out by all manner of vis- 
 itors, some the gayest and idlest, some the 
 best and most attractive men in the class. 
 Everybody wanted his acquaintance and com- 
 pany. He was beset with solicitations for his 
 leisure time. Would he not join this society, 
 or that ? Would he not be a member of the 
 singing-club, or the chess-club, or the billiard- 
 club, or the boating-club ? Would he not go 
 to walk, or to ride, or to be introduced to lady 
 friends in the city ? Every kind of pleasure 
 that lively or intelligent or wealthy companion- 
 ship could offer was at his command. And 
 Cyril was young : if he liked books, neverthe- 
 less life looked to him a thousand times more
 
 THE rOPULAn MAN. 53 
 
 charming. How, then, was it likely to fare 
 with one who, in spite of good teaching, in 
 spite of many noble aspirations, in spite of a 
 clear insight of consequences, yet had not 
 trained himself to bring conscience to bear in 
 little things ? who, now that no watchful fath- 
 er had oversight of his hours, could say, "It is 
 no harm to slight, just this once, the perfect 
 mastery I know I might get over this lesson ; 
 no harm, just this once, to let my companions 
 keep me up so late that I shall hardly wake in 
 time for prayers to-morrow ; no harm, just for 
 to-day, to lose the reading I was going to keep 
 up with my study, and which would make it so 
 much more valuable " ? Why, the harm which 
 he denied overtook him, great harm and 
 irrecoverable loss. For the yielding to small 
 temptation never happens "just this once," 
 but again, and again, and again. And each 
 time it wears away some strength, some sound- 
 ness and goodness, from the foundations of 
 character, and renders them at last weak and 
 untrustworthy. 
 
 Cyril became the most popular man in his
 
 54 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 class. He wrote its songs, furnished it with 
 squibs, and planned its prowess. He was the 
 glory of its base-ball nine, the best debater and 
 the most active politician in its literary society. 
 But, little by little, he was ceasing to be its 
 best scholar. He had so much to occupy his 
 time, there were so many to please, so many 
 enjoyments to be tasted, such various kinds of 
 glory to win. He could not degenerate into 
 one of those scrambling students, who run to 
 recitation with open book ; who tremble for 
 fear they shall be called up ; who call it won- 
 derfully good luck if they blunder forth some 
 confused notion of the lesson, and just their 
 luck if they are compelled to sit down in ig- 
 nominious failure ; who cast glances at their 
 classmates for underhand help ; bring papers of 
 hints in their handkerchiefs, and formulas in 
 their hats; yet never, with all their devices, 
 get any thing but the credit, or rather the dis- 
 credit, they deserve. Cyril's ambition was 
 still too strong to do that. It troubled him 
 from time to time to discover how he was 
 slighting the purpose for which he was sent to
 
 THE POPULAR MAN. 55 
 
 college. He did not like to give up all that it 
 meant to be a good scholar, even for the sweet- 
 ness of being called a good companion. 
 
 But there was a better thing the surety 
 of every attainment worth making that he 
 was giving up, not consciously perhaps, but 
 thoughtlessly. It was the fear of the Lord. 
 Perhaps Cyril had never, in truth, followed hard 
 after God, set him upon his right hand con- 
 tinually, so that he could not be moved. Only 
 while he had lived with those who walked 
 close to their Master, and displayed his light 
 and beauty, he, too, had seemed to be in near- 
 ness and covenant, as his kindred were. But 
 now, when others showed no devotion but to 
 pleasure and selfish gain, Cyril was like them, 
 almost in every thought. True, there was a 
 Bible among his books, and he maintained a 
 decorous regard for the Sabbath, and gave a 
 respectful assent to all religious opinions ad- 
 vanced by chance in his presence ; and all his 
 companions knew that Cyril was one of the 
 small too small number of communicants 
 among them. But where were the outspoken
 
 56 THE STORY OF CYRIL HI I' KM. 
 
 horror of sin, the watchfulness, the humility, 
 that should be found in the heart and life of 
 one in whose love the Lord was really first ? 
 Above all, where was the service, the eager, 
 involuntary work, performed, hourly, whenever 
 opportunity offered, the vote and influence 
 always for the right, the word of enlighten- 
 ment or earnest warning or entreaty spoken 
 out of fullness of heart ? Ah ! what allure- 
 ment could there have been to Cyril in the 
 idea of being the most popular man in his class, 
 compared with that of being the most useful, 
 if there had been still before his eyes the 
 beauty he had once discerned in forgetting 
 self, and living for God and his fellow-men ? 
 That vision had no power now : it had not 
 come out of gratitude to Christ, who had given 
 him salvation, for Cyril had never yet really 
 felt his need of that salvation. 
 
 While Cyril suffered mortification and dis- 
 comfiture to find himself losing in scholarship, 
 and while a vague uneasiness and anxiety, the 
 unheeded reproaches of conscience, disturbed 
 him in his few unoccupied and solitary hours,
 
 THE POPULAR MAN. 57 
 
 John Seelye was day by day tasting the proud- 
 est and sweetest pleasure he had ever known, 
 finding himself, in his studies, rapidly gaining 
 ground. He had suffered, at first, every dis- 
 couragement, and worked with such self-denial, 
 such labor and patience, as his more fortunate 
 classmates could hardly have imagined. But 
 now his way was brightening with hope : the 
 path grew more smooth and easy, and the pros- 
 pect of the reward was becoming more certain. 
 John was hardly ever seen except at recita- 
 tion, from which he came and went with a pre- 
 occupied and silent manner. Therefore very 
 few in the class knew much about him. Nollie 
 Stavins, however, had found out his room, and 
 formed a friendship with him, and was some- 
 times laughed at for often quoting and praising 
 him, and for showing vexation if any one by 
 chance spoke contemptuously of his slow reci- 
 tations or his shabby coat and plain face. But, 
 though John was so little known, most of 
 those who met him every day liked and re- 
 spected him. Little acts and occasional words 
 showed him to possess a kindly and an honest
 
 58 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 heart, as well as an independent spirit. Per- 
 haps his face would have been missed from the 
 classroom with as much regret as any of the 
 brighter and handsomer ones that were accus- 
 tomed to be met there. Between Cyril and 
 John, there was a quiet understanding of mu- 
 tual kindly feeling ; but John was too hard at 
 work, and Cyril too much occupied with the 
 pressure of new engagements, to extend the 
 acquaintance beyond a friendly nod or salu- 
 tation as they met each other at their daily 
 tasks.
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 59 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 
 
 1 Happy is he that condemneth not himself In that thing which he 
 alloweth." 
 
 7HE first .winter of Cyril's college 
 life passed away. If it had offered 
 temptations to slight duty for pleasure, 
 the opening spring presented them in 
 double strength. The country about 
 made itself beautiful, and attracted to walks 
 and drives; and the soft moonlight nights 
 tempted to late loitering and talking and sing- 
 ing under the elms. But most irresistibly the 
 sparkling waters of the broad river, flowing be- 
 tween green hills and meadows, drew the young 
 men to the sports it afforded. The summer 
 races were approaching ; and in every class 
 there was excitement about the selection and 
 training of the competing crews, and the con-
 
 GO THE STORY OF CYRIL HIVKUS. 
 
 dition of the racing-boats. The freshmen were 
 not the less interested and ambitious in looking 
 forward to the contest because it was a new 
 thing to them. They were zealous to show 
 themselves possessed of as much vigor and 
 enterprise, as well as of as much unity of feel- 
 ing and liberality, as any of the other classes. 
 Their efforts were not to be considered juve- 
 nile : they meant to win success and glory if 
 determination could do it. 
 
 Such, at least, appeared to be the spirit 
 shown at an informal meeting of those inter- 
 ested, held one night in Tom Raddon's room 
 to discuss ways and means of providing a new 
 boat, and to decide upon the names of those 
 who seemed best qualified to compose the crew. 
 Four out of those who had shown capacity to 
 become good oarsmen were easily chosen. 
 They were, first, Minor, nicknamed the " Ma- 
 jor," a thin, gray-eyed, close-mouthed fellow, 
 with such a stock of quiet willfulness that it 
 was thought his only looking at a thing would 
 make it work according to his mind ; then 
 Baum, a large, rather dull-looking man, whose
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 61 
 
 strength was all physical, and lay in his tre- 
 mendous arms and shoulders ; Benson, a stout, 
 merry lad, whose muscle and energy were not 
 worth more than his hopeful, cheerful temper ; 
 and Sine, a fine-looking fellow, except for a 
 certain indifference and languor in his hand- 
 some face, which was sadly accounted for when 
 he hesitated to enroll himself among the crew 
 hecause he should then be obliged to give up 
 smoking. But about the choice of the two re- 
 maining oarsmen, there was a great deal of 
 doubt and discussion. One name after another 
 was proposed and refused. Some of his flat- 
 terers offered Tom's ; but, to the great relief 
 of the rest, he promptly declined. He liked 
 yachting well enough, he said ; but he was too 
 big and blundering for a shell-boat. At last, 
 some one said, " Where's Rivers ? Why" 
 would not he be the right man ? " 
 
 " Just the one ! " said Benson : " where is 
 he?" 
 
 Cyril had kept away purposely. He did- 
 not want to go upon the crew. He had not 
 the necessary time to spare ; and then boating
 
 62 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 was an expensive sport, and he shrank from 
 being constantly drawn into such, when his 
 means would not allow him to bear any portion 
 of the costs. He knew the pleasure his com- 
 panions had in his society gladly excused that ; 
 yet he did not want it to happen any oftener 
 than he could help. 
 
 But he had been brought up by the sea- 
 shore, and loved boats. He was agile and 
 strong, and had the gift of inspiring enthusiasm. 
 He would make a valuable member of the 
 crew, his companions thought. They must 
 have him at any rate. He would make 
 boating popular with half of the class if he 
 would engage in it heartily. Some one must 
 run and tell him he was wanted in Raddon's 
 room. 
 
 While the messenger was gone, they were 
 debating whom to choose next, when Nollie 
 Stavins astonished them by proposing John 
 Seelye. Nollie was a man of some considera- 
 tion in the boating world, because he owned a 
 beautiful new " double-scull : " therefore his 
 sujjo-estion was not scoffed at, as it would other- 
 
 OO 
 
 wise have been.
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 63 
 
 " Seelye ! " said one : " wliy, what sort of a 
 man would lie be ? " 
 
 " A first-rate man ! " said Nollie. " He's 
 as strong as a horse, and as cool-headed a fellow 
 as I ever saw." 
 
 " But he can't row ? " 
 
 " Yes, he can. I never saw a fellow get into 
 a boat like mine for the first time, and manage 
 himself and the oars as well as he did. He's 
 lived on the Kennebec River, and been in 
 canoes and all sorts of light boats. Just you 
 try him. I'll bet you can't match him for 
 strength in the whole class." 
 
 " That's true, I guess," said Minor reflec- 
 tively. 
 
 "And, then," continued Nollie, "he isn't 
 so tied up to tobacco and beer that he'll be 
 likely to give out in the middle of his training 
 just to get back to them." 
 
 " To be sure ! " said Sine approvingly. 
 
 " Then just try him," continued Stavins, 
 earnestly. " I tell you, I'd bet on any thing 
 the most forlorn hope that ever was, if it had 
 him in it. You see, I know him, and you 
 don't."
 
 C4 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " Well," said Minor, " I believe we'll put 
 him down for a trial, at any rate. I think that 
 he looks like a promising sort of man myself. 
 But will he agree ? " 
 
 Nollie had not thought of that. He could 
 not tell. It would certainly he just the exer- 
 cise John needed, but very likely he would say 
 he could not spare the time. Stavins volun- 
 teered, at last, to ask him to come and talk the 
 matter over with the fellows. 
 
 By this time Cyril had made his appearance, 
 quite resolved not to accept the place offered 
 him. " I'm sorry, hoys," said he, " but I 
 must decline." 
 
 " Decline ! no such thing : we won't hear of 
 it!" 
 
 " Thank you ; but you'll have to. There 
 are plenty who will do better than I." 
 
 " No : there isn't another one will do as well ; 
 you must go." 
 
 " But I can not," said Cyril, unusually res- 
 olute. " I can not spare the time." 
 
 " The time ! " said Benson. " Ain't you 
 ashamed to talk of that, when you can get your
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 65 
 
 lessons so easy? Why, man, there's oceans of 
 time ! All the time it takes is a little run in 
 the morning, that gets you out early, and is so 
 much clear gain ; then a little pull after morn- 
 ing recitation, a little exercise in the gymnasium 
 before dinner, another pull toward evening, and 
 a little run at night again. It don't take more 
 than three hours out of the day. Come, we'll 
 promise you shall have the rest clear. We 
 won't come to your room to bother you, nor 
 tease you to go anywhere. Say you'll pull 
 with us, there's a good fellow ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, do, Rivers ! you shall ! you 
 must ! " was echoed round Cyril. It did not 
 move him much, though he was perplexed how 
 to make his fixed resolution evident. Tom's 
 heavy voice at length broke in, silencing the 
 fire of smah" artillery. 
 
 " See here," said he, bringing his tilted chair 
 down upon its four legs, and sitting upright, 
 with a determined expression upon his counte- 
 nance. " I'm bound this crew shall win, and 
 I'm bound Rivers shall go upon it. Now, I'll 
 make him this offer ; and he may accept it. or
 
 60 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 not, just as he has any class-feeling or not. 
 We've got to have a new first-class boat. If 
 Rivers '11 help row it, I'll give the Major a 
 check for five hundred, and he may go clown 
 to-morrow, and order just the best that can be 
 built. But, if Rivers won't row, I won't give a 
 cent for the boat. You fellows '11 have to get it 
 up by subscription, the best you can ; and the 
 probability is, you won't have it to practice in 
 till within a few days of the race. So there it 
 is, and he may do as he pleases." 
 
 There was a thunder of applause in the 
 room at this announcement, cheers for Rad- 
 don, and cries of, " There you are, Rivers ! " 
 " Rivers is booked now ! " " Hurray for the 
 new boat and glory ! " " Hurray for Rad- 
 don ! " 
 
 The tumult dying away, Cyril was found 
 looking pale and agitated. Easy-tempered as 
 he was, there was something in him that re- 
 belled against what looked so like compulsion. 
 
 " You don't mean this, Tom ? " he said, in 
 an undertone. 
 
 " That I do," answered Tom. " I'll swear
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 67 
 
 to it if yon want me to. What do I care for 
 the boat unless you are in it ? You can go in 
 and have the sport and the glory as well as 
 not ; and, if you won't, they may whistle for 
 their boat." 
 
 Cyril stood in silence, trying to overcome his 
 vexation enough to think. Which should he 
 let go, his personal profit as a student, and 
 as one who sought to get from his time its full- 
 est benefit ; or his popularity, his reputation as 
 a man of class-feeling, a good-hearted, gener- 
 ous fellow, ready to join enthusiastically in all 
 that was proposed for the class-glory ? The 
 offer of the boat was a great thing. Its cost 
 had laid a heavy expense in prospective upon 
 all interested. To have that so generously 
 given delighted every one, and appeared like an 
 omen of victory. Cyril felt that he could not 
 disappoint the fellows by a churlish refusal of 
 his help. He must give way. The sacrifice 
 would only be for a few weeks. It should not 
 happen again : another year should not pass as 
 this had done. 
 
 " Well," said he, as his brow cleared, and
 
 68 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 his smile returned, " under such circumstances, 
 I suppose there's only one course for me. I 
 shall have to join the crew and do my best. 
 I'm afraid you've sadly hampered your noble 
 offer, Tom, by making me a condition to it ; 
 but there's my hand to promise you I'll do all I 
 can, and thank you for your friendship and 
 your generosity to the class with all my heart." 
 
 Tom was more pleased with that little speech, 
 and with the smile upon Cyril's handsome face, 
 than Avith the applause and gratitude of all the 
 rest. Afterward he said to Cyril, in private, 
 -" You got me into college without a condition ; 
 and I told you that was worth an extra five 
 hundred dollars to me this year. It's no more 
 than fair now that you should have the good of 
 it." 
 
 " The good of it ! " The words struck even 
 Cyril strangely, since he knew the position into 
 which Tom had, as it were, forced him, was 
 not likely to bring him any good except tem- 
 porary excitement and pleasure. But neither 
 he nor Tom saw all the meaning in those words. 
 The <K>od of deceit ! the fruit of lies ! What
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 69 
 
 could it be ? What else but ashes and bitter- 
 ness ? food that was weakness instead of 
 strength, a gain that was poverty, an honor 
 that was shame, a pleasure that was only grief. 
 Such a good poor Tom had, in truth, as he 
 said, offered the friend he really loved, a re- 
 ward of hours robbed of their best gifts, of 
 many temptations, of independence exchanged 
 for popular favor. Alas ! Tom, your friend- 
 ship is oppressive and dangerous. Cyril would 
 not, in honest manly kindness, remove the 
 stumbling-blocks out of your path ; and, all un- 
 wittingly, you, in turn, have set snares for his 
 feet. " Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall 
 he also reap." 
 
 The noise over the new boat and boatman 
 had hardly subsided, when John Seelye came 
 in with Stavins. It was the first time John 
 had been in so large an informal gathering of 
 his classmates : he was acquainted with but 
 few present, and he did not know why he had 
 been summoned. But he was greeted with 
 respect and cordiality, that gratified the soli- 
 tary, hard-working man as much as it surprised
 
 70 TEE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 him. Cyril was deputed to explain why Mr. 
 Seelye had been sent for. lie would gladly 
 have remained in the background : his vexa- 
 tion over his broken resolves made him 
 ashamed in the presence of this man, whose 
 respect he had from the first instinctively 
 desired to keep. He knew it was only to him- 
 self that his agreement to be upon the crew 
 would seem wrong ; but that it did so to him- 
 self was enough. There was no way for him, 
 however, but to put the best face upon the 
 matter he was able. 
 
 " Mr. Seelye," said he, " we owe you an 
 apology for sending for you so hastily; but 
 we've been choosing a crew for the race, and 
 AVC want you very much to try taking an oar. 
 Stavins says you know all about pulling ; and 
 we think, if you will train with us, you've got 
 just the build and strength to help us win. 
 What do you say? I wish very much you 
 would agree." 
 
 He added the last words in all sincerity. 
 Nothing could so have comforted him in his 
 transgression if the boating was for him a
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 71 
 
 transgression as the company of upright 
 John Seelye. 
 
 The proposition was as delightful to John as 
 it was surprising. Such a token of confidence 
 and friendly feeling from his classmates grati- 
 fied him exceedingly ; and then the prospect 
 of the sport ! He seemed, at this minute, to 
 feel the handle of the long oar in his accus- 
 tomed hands, and to feel the thin, pointed 
 boat shoot forward at the pull of his sturdy 
 arms. He loved the sparkling flow of rivers, 
 the sight of green banks gliding by, the breath 
 of the sweet country air, the freedom of the 
 open heavens overhead. But what did he 
 say? The brightness had not quite vanished 
 from his face, though a little sigh escaped him 
 as he answered. 
 
 " There's nothing in the world I like better 
 than rowing, Mr. Rivers ; and those wherries 
 and six-oared shells of yours I see on the river 
 would bewitch almost any man who knew what 
 a boat meant. But I can't make one of your 
 crew. Thank you for inviting me, though, all 
 the same."
 
 72 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 He showed such a sympathy in the sport in 
 which he denied himself a share, that no one 
 present was willing to accept his refusal. He 
 was overwhelmed with eager entreaties, that 
 astonished and perplexed him. But he was 
 not moved from his decision. To the last 
 " Why can't you ? " he answered, 
 
 " You know I came here a poor scholar. 
 But I don't expect to remain so. It will cost 
 me hard work to gain all I mean to, and I can 
 not risk being tempted out of it. That is not 
 all, either," he added, after a short pause, 
 during which his avowal of industrious inten- 
 tions had made a silence in the room. 
 
 " What is it, then ? " asked Cyril. He was 
 impelled to ask by a sort of jealousy stirring 
 bitterly in his heart at the sight of one who 
 could be true to his aim. He must know in 
 what more this man's behavior excelled his 
 own. But the rest heard the question too, and 
 waited for the answer. 
 
 But John seemed to hesitate about giving it. 
 There was a slight struggle in his mind before 
 he could show such true kindness toward those
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 73 
 
 who had been friendly to him as to express his 
 honest belief when he knew it would be dis- 
 tasteful to them. But, when he did speak, his 
 manner was so pleasant, though fearless, that 
 what he said did not offend, if it did not con- 
 vince them. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Rivers," he said, " I know 
 none of you think as I do ; but, to tell the 
 truth, I do not want to train and row for a 
 race. I'd do it for power and speed, but not 
 for victory. A race must be, it can not help 
 but be, a temptation." 
 
 " To what ? " said Cyril. 
 
 " To over-excitement, that's nearly as 
 wicked as drunkenness ; to an undue ex- 
 penditure of thought upon a matter that 
 ought to be always subordinate to our every- 
 day work ; to a waste of money the poor 
 world wants for more pressing uses ; to ill- 
 feeling ; to swearing ; to betting ; and yes, 
 even among gentlemen to cheating." 
 
 There was a silence in the room. It was 
 the truth John had spoken : not a man there 
 that did not acknowledge it in his heart.
 
 74 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " What, then ? " each asked himself. " Shall 
 we set ourselves to judge and decry the long- 
 established practices of our institution ? be the 
 wise and pious freshmen, whose plea, ' too 
 good to race,' shall make them a singularity, 
 not to say a laughing-stock, in the annals of 
 colleges? Shall we give up our chance of 
 sport and glory, and that with a new boat and 
 such strong, skillful, enthusiastic men ? Give 
 it all up for a scruple ? Why, no : of course 
 not." 
 
 The silence boded no sympathy with John, 
 in his views, from any one. As he rose to go, 
 he said cheerfully, " We can't all think alike, 
 fellows ; and, though I've told you what I 
 believe, I never supposed you could all agree 
 to it. But be sure I shall wish for your suc- 
 cess in the race just as much as anybody." 
 
 As he went away, Nellie Stavins, with a 
 serious face, rose softly and followed him. 
 Cyril looked after them with sorrow in his 
 heart. What a weight and hindrance would 
 have been thrown off his life if just then he 
 had had the manliness to speak out in support
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 75 
 
 of John's opinion, as with his insight and in- 
 fluence he might have done so effectively ! 
 But he kept silence, arguing down the noble 
 rebellion in his heart to agreement with the 
 prevailing notions and wishes of those around 
 him. 
 
 " What on earth does the fellow mean ? " 
 said Tom, as John departed : " that we've no 
 business to race ? " 
 
 "Exactly," said Benson. 
 
 " Well, I declare ! " ejaculated Tom. " And 
 he seems like a pretty good fellow too." 
 
 " Some of these Down-east fellows have such 
 queer, strict notions ! " said another. 
 
 " They generally get over 'em after they've 
 been here a while : don't you think so, 
 Rivers ? " said Sine. 
 
 Cyril shook his head. " No : not when it's 
 like this," said he. "You see," arguing for 
 himself as well as for the rest, "there's a 
 basis of truth in what he said. I suppose a 
 race is a temptation ; at least, there's always 
 just so much betting and excitement con- 
 nected with it. But 1 should say that was not
 
 76 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 so much the blame of the race as of the way 
 the people not capable of governing themselves 
 go into it. You may make a temptation of 
 every thing if you choose of eating your 
 dinner every day, for example. No doubt 
 Scelye meant well, and had some ground for 
 his assertion ; but, it seems to me, he would do 
 more good to just enter into the race, and 
 show how a man ought to go through it, than 
 to refuse to have any thing to do with it." 
 
 " Never mind, Rivers," said Sine drily : 
 " you and I will do that part for him." 
 
 Tom, whose mind had been disturbed by 
 what John said, as by a sort of revelation, 
 threw himself back in his chair with a sort of 
 sigh at this settlement of the question. "Well," 
 said he, " all I know is this : I'm glad I ain't 
 the one to show you all how to enter into 
 temptation. I guess I wasn't cut out for that 
 kind of work." 
 
 There was a general laugh. It had a mock- 
 ing sound to Cyril's ears. Tom's blunt speech 
 had upset all his smooth logic. It was a. relief 
 to all when the conversation was turned back 
 to the business of the evening.
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 77 
 
 The crew was satisfactorily arranged, the 
 new boat was ordered, and the men began 
 training enthusiastically. Cyril entered into 
 the work with as much apparent zeal as if he 
 had not begun it almost upon compulsion. He 
 rose early for his morning row, he ate his rare- 
 beef and oatmeal cakes, took his regular 
 rest and exercise with as much precision and 
 as much seeming sense of the importance of 
 all this painstaking as any of his comrades. 
 But there was that in his mind which merry 
 Benson and Minor, their hearts set upon the 
 attainment of their object, not upon estimating 
 its value, never knew. It was a half-heeded, 
 regretful questioning as to the use of the effort, 
 an occasional passing feeling of scorn at sight 
 of his companions innocently but so earnestly 
 discussing the question whether they might 
 drink two gills or a pint of water, or whether 
 it would do to use butter and milk with their 
 oatmeal porridge. Was the end worth all 
 this thought about eating and sleeping, and 
 all this endurance, this forcing one's self to a 
 routine, whatever the mood, or the varying
 
 78 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 calls of the day, so that a man must run when 
 the clear morning brain made the aspect of 
 books beautiful, and go through grim pulling 
 of weights in a gymnasium when his heart 
 was drawn to social converse with friends upon 
 the benches under the elms outside ? 
 
 Cyril did not miss the fact that it is a good 
 thing for a man to know that he may keep 
 himself a bond-slave to his purpose. And let 
 me say here, that, in describing his feelings 
 about this matter, no one need suppose I would 
 condemn such a course of training as he had 
 entered upon. It must be of inestimable and 
 life-long value to many : it is all that has 
 appeared to redeem the purpose for which it 
 is undertaken. But I condemn Cyril for en- 
 tering upon it because he knew in his heart it 
 was not for him whatever it might be to 
 others the most profitable exercise to which 
 he could give his time. The unworthy mo- 
 tives, so exciting to some, and kept so con- 
 stantly in view, often, in his secret heart, 
 disquieted him. " That a man," he would 
 think to himself, " with all the possibilities the
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 79 
 
 days hold for him, should give himself up to 
 his conversion into a race-horse ! " There 
 were moments when it seemed to Cyril that 
 all his fellows were governed by a puerile 
 infatuation, an ambition that might have been 
 
 7 O 
 
 expected only in barbarians. But that was all 
 hidden deep in his heart: it never came to 
 light. 
 
 Like the rest, Cyril gave himself up for two 
 months to become a " good oar;" slept and 
 ate for that ; went in and came out for that ; 
 talked and read about that ; and, like the rest, 
 did not advance much in learning any thing but 
 that. His face grew brown ; and all its softness 
 and roundness disappeared in a hard, spare 
 look, the skin drawn closely over the muscles 
 and swollen veins, giving him an expression of 
 strained hardihood, such as some weather- 
 beaten, much-enduring pioneer or soldier might 
 exhibit. His shoulders grew broad, and his 
 arms powerful. But his mind seemed to lose 
 something of fire and vitality as his body 
 gained. It might have been because of the 
 tax upon his strength, and it might have been
 
 80 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 because his attention was so diverted from his 
 studies, that he often felt a certain restlessness 
 and impatience when he would have devoted 
 himself to his Look. And then he was so 
 pressed for time. Be sure if you lay upon the 
 limited table of your day all the occupations it 
 will hold, another's thoughtless hand, or your 
 own eager one, will, before long, attempt to 
 crowd in something more ; and then some part 
 of the legitimate burden is displaced, pushed 
 on to another day as well-filled as the first, 
 and so, perhaps, never finds a place. It is 
 better to have a margin, lest, in trying to do 
 all that we might, we fail to do all that we 
 ought. Cyril had completely filled up his time 
 with exercise and study, hoping to make room 
 for all he seemed called upon to do. But now 
 he was surprised to find how entirely he failed 
 to carry out his arrangements. His training 
 went on well enough, to be sure, for that was 
 now the first consideration. But his study- 
 hours were constantly broken in upon. The 
 row or the run would last a little longer than it 
 ought. It would be necessary to linger a while
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 81 
 
 at the boat-house to watch the upper-class men 
 coming in or going out, so as to compare pro- 
 gress ; or he would be detained in interesting 
 conversation about the prospect of the race. 
 Many a time he found himself running to reci- 
 
 * o 
 
 tation at the last toll of the bell, with the 
 unsatisfactory knowledge that the three min- 
 utes he had dared to linger could not make up 
 for the thirty lost before the lesson was begun. 
 
 Under these circumstances you will not be 
 surprised to find Cyril soon freely using the 
 dishonest help he had not discountenanced for 
 others, but which he had once scorned to rely 
 upon himself. Benson's " ponies " found their 
 way to Cyril's study-table ; and even that dirty 
 manuscript-book of corrected Greek exercises, 
 that Tom had purchased from a sophomore, 
 and that was handed about for copying among 
 the idlest, most unprincipled men in the class, 
 Cyril did not now refuse to avail himself of. It 
 was only for a while, he said, and there was no 
 other way. The day set for the races was 
 drawing near ; the zeal of the boatmen and 
 the excitement of their friends and abettors
 
 82 TIIE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 were increasing with the summer heat. There 
 was nothing but hurry and dissipation of mind. 
 He was uneasy at his course sometimes. All 
 the lessons passed by in those weeks were in 
 the retrospect like haunting, unfeatured ghosts, 
 every one pointing to the day of examination. 
 He remembered with a blush of shame, too, 
 Tom's speech about entering into temptation. 
 Ah ! how Cyril had failed to show himself 
 one who could endure it ! And yet he could 
 argue out some comfort : others were more 
 faulty than he ; they all thought him remarka- 
 bly faithful to study ; two or three times he 
 had refused to join the crew in plans to " cut " 
 recitation, when they aspired to more practice 
 than there was time for. Why need he be for 
 ever blaming himself for what others were 
 doing without the least compunction ? 
 
 Alas, Cyril ! rather ask why you should 
 stand drawing comparisons between yourself 
 and others more ignorant. Cease to glance 
 over the surfa'ce of your days, filling your ears 
 with their thousand voices of temptation, and 
 your eyes with their fleeting lights of allure-
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 83 
 
 ment, and come back to behold the truth of 
 your life, and to hear the decrees of duty in 
 the depths of your soul. In all these little 
 errings, you will find great transgressions. 
 Your carelessness in study is only for three or 
 four weeks, you say. Yes ; but in those 
 weeks you have cheated your father of the 
 price of his earnest toil. Are you not bound 
 to gain the utmost from the privilege he is 
 straining his powers to the utmost to afford 
 you ? It was no mere smattering he sent you 
 here to gain, no merely civilizing process, not 
 simply a polite familiarity with classic names 
 and languages. It was thorough culture, the 
 habit of patient labor and thought, the mas- 
 tery and the enlightened use of your powers, 
 so that in your middle life no one can look 
 sadly upon you and say, " He is not the man, 
 that, with the best development of his facul- 
 ties, he might have become." 
 
 I know you have written to him, and told 
 him of your new engagements, and of some 
 of the things that have been crowded out of 
 your day ; and he wrote you baclt no word of
 
 84 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 rebuke, only sympathy in your efforts, and 
 cheerful wishes for your success. He did not 
 tell you that he sighed a little over your letter, 
 that it cost him a little struggle with some 
 vague anxiety and disappointment, before he 
 could write that kind reply. But he could not 
 bear to have you think he did not trust you. He 
 was always over-fond and proud of you. He 
 argued to himself that the thing was innocent, 
 that it was never in the nature of youth to be 
 able to resist the charms of physical sports ; 
 and, no doubt, that was to them a blessing and 
 protection. But, because of his indulgence, is 
 your debt to him any the less binding ? 
 
 The day of the races came at last. Since it 
 is natural to sympathize most with those whom 
 we know best, perhaps you will be sorry to 
 hear that it closed in disappointment to the 
 freshmen. Their failure was, no doubt, owing 
 to their want of experience in such matters. 
 Their splendid boat and good training had 
 given them a fair prospect of success. They 
 started well, and soon outstripped their natural
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 85 
 
 enemies, the sophs., and then the luzv, half-in- 
 earnest juniors. But they could not match 
 the well-practiced and matured strength of the 
 senior crew. They pulled desperately to gain 
 upon them ; but, after a while, finding them- 
 selves, instead, losing inch by inch, they be- 
 came a little demoralized by despair : insensibly 
 their efforts were weakened, they seemed to 
 have no reserve of strength, and, at last, even 
 suffered the boat behind them to get by and 
 come in ahead. 
 
 Well, it was a hard thing for them to come 
 in beaten and mortified, to find Tom Rad- 
 don and others angrily swearing over their 
 disappointment and their lost bets ; to re- 
 ceive the condolence of those more philosophi- 
 cal, and to see how crest-fallen were all their 
 lately exultant classmates. Benson actually 
 flung himself upon the floor of the boat-house, 
 and cried for vexation. Minor, pale with 
 anger, without opening his lips to friend or foe, 
 stalked away to his room, and was there sick 
 for a week. Cyril bore the defeat a little 
 more manfully, did his best to comfort the
 
 80 THE STORY OF CYRIL /.VT/./VN. 
 
 mourning, spoke cheerily, and argued from 
 to-day at least certain victory next year. 
 
 But, in the following days, he felt the reac- 
 tion almost as overwhelmingly as the others. 
 He seemed thoroughly wretched ; mortification 
 that w r as very much like remorse was in his 
 mind, and languor in his overstrained body. 
 He felt little inclined to make the most of the 
 two short weeks that lay between him and 
 examination; but then his carelessness in the 
 days past made him anxious about those to 
 come. He was not reconciled to the thought 
 that his stand at the end of the first year must 
 fall far below that he held on entering. He 
 was urged to do all that he could in the short 
 time remaining. He was glad, too, to shut 
 out the throng of companions, whose faces had, 
 for a while, grown tiresome to him. He closed 
 his door, therefore, as willfully as he was able, 
 and, battling with the distaste for application 
 that vexed his mind, set himself to work in 
 earnest. He soon discovered how much more 
 he had lost than he had supposed possible. 
 He studied desperately all day and late into
 
 THE UNWILLING BOATMAN. 87 
 
 the night, in the sudden change from his late 
 regular habits trifling dangerously with the 
 strength of his constitution. It was a wonder 
 that he endured to the close of the term with- 
 out serious illness. 
 
 If the result of the examination was hum- 
 bling to the expectations he had cherished earlier 
 in his college life, he hardened his heart to the 
 fact. There was many a fine fellow who 
 would still be glad to rank as high as he. Yet 
 no one congratulated him, and he could not 
 congratulate himself; for he could not hide 
 from himself the fact that he had not done as 
 well as many of his friends expected. But it 
 would be a happy thing for him if that failure 
 in scholarship was the worst he had made in 
 his first year at college.
 
 88 THE STORY OF CYRIL 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 
 
 " Behold, thou .... makest thy boast of God ; 
 
 "And knowest his will, and approves! the things that are 
 more excellent, being instructed out of the law. 
 
 "Thou, therefore, which teachest another, teachest thou not 
 thyself V" 
 
 n -J 
 
 HE long vacation was over. There 
 \vas a new bustle in the streets 
 of Eaton, as though the old city had 
 just waked from a siesta in the noon 
 of the year. So much young life 
 received again into her bosom, all restless after 
 two months' liberty, and with animal spirits at 
 their highest in the beautiful autumn weather, 
 must make her feel a change. The very elms 
 overhead seemed to sway with livelier breezes, 
 and to take on a brighter yellow in the sun- 
 shine. To-day, the first Sabbath in October, 
 the old chapel-bell, for some time silent, once
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. SO 
 
 more joined its peal with the rest, great and 
 small, from the steeples of the town ; and its 
 voice of compulsion, that spared the ears of 
 neither the profane nor the slothful, has gath- 
 ered in once more the restless congregation of 
 young men. 
 
 It is noon now ; and, while many have dis- 
 persed, some still remain in the chapel to par- 
 take of the Lord's Supper, administered at this 
 hour. The little band are more decorous in 
 attitude, more thoughtful in expression, than 
 the audience here usually appears : if there are 
 among them those who sometimes thoughtlessly 
 sleep or play in church as irreligious companions 
 do, they are now, at least, subdued and serious 
 and penitent. 
 
 If we look here for old friends, we shall find 
 Cyril Rivers and John Seelye. John's hard 
 face, browned by the summer sun, is worth 
 noticing just now, it is so softened and en- 
 nobled in its expression by his earnest devo- 
 tion. Cyril looks more than a year older than 
 when we first met him : the brightness and 
 confidence his face used to show arc subdued
 
 90 Till'. STOHY OF rrillL /.VIVAS'. 
 
 by a touch of melancholy and by some imvunl 
 experience of humiliation. He has come from 
 home with his old aims in some measure re- 
 vived, but with a better knowledge of the 
 strurro-le it must cost him to be true to them. 
 
 t*o 
 
 He has come with some sorrow, too, for the 
 shortcomings of which the past year was so 
 full. Shall we analyze this gentle regret, born 
 of affection to father and friends, and of the 
 perception of what gratitude demands from 
 him, and of what he owes himself, and seek in 
 it a graver sadness, because of the heavenly 
 Father whose service he had slighted and 
 forgotten? Surely, at tins first hour, when 
 Cyril has come back to his table to feed at his 
 hand, such a grief can not be entirely wanting 
 in the young man's heart. Else why is his 
 ace so troubled at. the time when of all others 
 it should be shining with joy and peace ? 
 
 That unusual look of sadness at the close of 
 the service attracted John Seelye's attention. 
 His heart was full of love just then, and it 
 was drawn out toward Cyril. He remembered 
 how often they had sat near each other at the
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 91 
 
 communion, without coming any nearer in 
 friendly acquaintance ; and lie bethought him- 
 self of how many temptations must beset this 
 younger brother, from the throng of flattering 
 companions about him, and from a heart re- 
 sponsive to the voice of every pleasure, not 
 chastened by labor and care like his own. 
 With a good thought in his mind, John quick- 
 ened his steps so as to overtake Cyril. 
 
 What he had to say was soon explained. 
 Fie was engaged in teaching in a mission Sun- 
 day school in the city, where one of the tutors 
 had taken him upon his first coming to college. 
 More teachers were wanted there ; and John 
 asked Cyril to go with him this noon, and see 
 the school, and perhaps take a class. Cyril 
 was a minister's son, and broiight up in Sun- 
 day-school work : teaching was easy for him, 
 with his natural gift for speaking attractively, 
 and his familiarity with Bible truths. In his 
 present half homesick, wholly self-sick state of 
 mind, the proposition was very welcome. Go- 
 ing in good company to do good work promised 
 to soothe the ache which his conscience, roused
 
 9'2 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 to its wounds, was keeping up in his heart. It 
 would be far pleasanter to spend the noon so 
 than in his room, where, if he tried to read, he 
 would be interrupted by classmates lounging 
 in to while away the tedious hours with un- 
 profitable if not profane conversation. He 
 acceded to John's request very gladly. 
 
 The school was upon the outskirts of the 
 city, in a forlorn region, built up with the un- 
 lovely dwellings of the poor. Here private 
 charity had erected a little chapel-building, 
 made its plain ulterior as attractive as might be, 
 with texts and colored letters upon the walls, 
 hanging-baskets of flowers and evergreens, and 
 pictures of Scripture scenes. Here were gath- 
 ered a hundred or more children from the 
 neighborhood. They were shabbily attired, 
 and their very faces, alas ! rank after rank of 
 them, bore testimony to the certainty of the 
 law that the little ones were learning to repeat, 
 " visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the 
 children, to the third and fourth generation of 
 them that hate me." Here was presented the 
 sad sight of a childhood without beauty.
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 93 
 
 Even if by chance you find among the rest 
 some little Marian Erie, whom suffering has 
 purified, her thin and pallid cheeks, her large 
 and eager eyes, are too pitiful to be pleasing. 
 Here are faces whose hue shows how the whole 
 body languishes for cleanliness and pure air, 
 faces that you gaze upon dissatisfied and regret- 
 ful, puzzled with searching for something which 
 should be in them, and is not, or with wonder- 
 ing at that which is in them, and should not be ; 
 faces that would be beautiful, if if not for 
 that unduly developed feature, perhaps, or that 
 premature look, or that sensual or sly or dull 
 or fierce expression. Ah ! when we go down 
 from a happier lot, and look upon those born in 
 io-norance and sin, and wonder to find them so 
 
 O 7 
 
 far from our standard of beauty, let us think, 
 that with such sorrow and disappointment, be- 
 cause of the grace and glory which we should 
 wear and do not, God and the angels take 
 knowledge of us. Methinks we are all only 
 poor, careless, ignorant, half-listening children 
 in God's mission-school ; and not all the glory 
 and the beauty of the temple he has built for
 
 94 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 i 
 
 us, not all the heavenly love and sweet plead- 
 ing of the chief Shepherd he has put over us, 
 can win from us more than a weak trust, a 
 fickle obedience, a wavering attention. With 
 what long-suffering patience, then, with what 
 all-trusting, all-hoping charity, shall not we, 
 who are ourselves such ungrateful, erring schol- 
 ars, be exercised toward the little ones put in 
 our charge ? 
 
 Cyril looked about upon the school ; and his 
 heart, susceptible to what was fine in the spirit 
 of any scene, was soothed and pleased. When 
 the opening exercises were over, he was given 
 the charge of a turbulent class of large boys, 
 newly drawn into the school. There was scope 
 enough to use all his powers of pleasing, and to 
 prove himself a master of influence in keeping 
 them in order, to say nothing of instructing 
 them. There was fresh pleasure to him, then, 
 in finding that the something in him which had 
 attracted Tom Raddon and others did not fail 
 in its effect upon these boys. They were quk-t 
 under the gentle tone of Cyril's voice. His 
 ready insight into their nature and ways of
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 95 
 
 thought, and his talent for illustration, and ver- 
 satility of expression, enabled him to put what 
 he had to say into such shape that they would 
 listen to it and remember it. It was only a 
 short half-hour that he had to talk to them ; but 
 in that time he contrived to establish a friendly 
 footing between them and himself, so that at 
 the close of the lesson they asked him if he 
 would come again. He was willino- enough to 
 
 o o o 
 
 promise. He enjoyed, more than any thing, his 
 conquests in winning love. The sadness with 
 which he had left church had departed, and 
 left him self-content and happy. But the scene, 
 and the exercise in which he had taken part, 
 had excited all his religious and poetic emo- 
 tions, and set his mind working with many 
 thoughts. They were not thoughts of himself, 
 sorrowful and condemnatory ; yet, by some im- 
 pulse of the wishful, struggling angel in his 
 soul, they were of that which he ought to be 
 and was the farthest from beinf. As the 
 
 O 
 
 thirsty traveler in the desert beholds a mirage 
 of fair waters, so his spirit was imaging forth, 
 with a delusive, temporary gratification, as if it
 
 9G THE STORY OF VY111L A7I V. V.'N. 
 
 were cnougli merely to be able to see, the 
 beauty of that state it was least likely to attain. 
 lie was not sorry that the superintendent, at- 
 tracted by his looks and the apparent enthusi- 
 asm with which he had thrown himself into the 
 work of the hour, after a short consultation 
 with John, asked him if he would make a short 
 address to the children before the close of the 
 school. There were some words that had 
 been read at the opening that had been shining 
 before his mind ever since ; and the thoughts 
 that had arisen about these words, because there 
 was an audience about him, had put themselves 
 into the shape of discourse to that audience, 
 It was often so in Cyril's mind : the instinct of 
 expression was so strong, that his ideas, as they 
 came to his own consciousness, oftener pre- 
 sented themselves in the form of dialogue or 
 address than in any other way. Therefore, he 
 went up very readily to the speaker's platform ; 
 and when he stood there, and looked around 
 upon the children, there was that brightness in 
 his eye, and earnestness upon his face, that 
 showed him to be at no loss for subject-matter 
 of discourse.
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 97 
 
 When his glance had drawn all eyes upon 
 his own, he suddenly raised them, as if looking 
 away through the low roof into the heaven 
 of heavens. " Children," he said, while all 
 the wondering glances followed his, " I am 
 thinking of that wonderful vision of which we 
 have read to-day : I seem to see it now, I 
 can not forget the words of it." He paused 
 a moment, and then slowly, and with great 
 intensity and force, as if he were indeed the 
 seer, began to repeat the following : 
 
 " ' And I saw heaven opened ; and, behold, 
 a white horse ; and he that sat upon him was 
 called Faithful and True, and in righteousness 
 he doth judge and make war ! 
 
 " ' His eyes were as a flame of fire ; and on 
 his head were many crowns ; and he had a 
 name written that no man knew but he him- 
 self. And he was clothed with a vesture 
 dipped in blood; and his name is called the 
 Word of God. 
 
 "'And the armies which were in heaven 
 followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine 
 
 linen, white and clean.' ' 
 
 7
 
 98 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 His tone and manner were such that the 
 eyes of his audience were fastened upon him 
 with a strained gaze, as though they saw with 
 his vision, and little faces fairly grew pale with 
 solemnity and wonder. 
 
 " Do you think," he continued, " that sight 
 is something far-off and wonderful, something 
 you will see many years after death, when you 
 have gone from this to other worlds ? 
 
 " No : I tell you it is the story of what has 
 begun now. Who is this upon the white steed 
 of victory, with the many crowns, the eyes of 
 fire, the garment dipped in blood ? It is Jesus 
 Christ, who was slain upon earth, but who was 
 raised from death, and has come again a con- 
 queror. By faith we may see him now, riding 
 through all the earth upon his white steed. 
 His eyes of fire search all hearts, and many 
 kings call him their Lord. By the story that 
 his blood-stained garments tell, the story of 
 how he died to take away our sins, the story 
 of his love to all men, and by his word in the 
 Bible, and his Holy Spirit in the hearts of 
 men, he is subduing the whole earth to him- 
 self.
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 99 
 
 " And who are these, the armies of heaven, 
 mounted like him, conquering with him, 
 clothed in clean linen, pure and white? Why, 
 you need not wait till death to see their bright 
 array ! They are about you everywhere : 
 they are the good men and women who labor 
 for him, who love him, whom he has made 
 his servants, and equipped for the war with his 
 own hand. He has put on them the white robe 
 of his own righteousness, and set them on his 
 strong white steeds of grace and redemption. 
 
 " Will you come, children, and join this 
 train ? Would you have the Conqueror help 
 you to become strong and joyful servants ? and 
 would you help him win the victory? Pie 
 wants you in his army : he has called you to-day, 
 by the teachers who have told you of his war- 
 fare and his glory. And I will tell you how 
 you may join his ranks. Not by going to 
 another world, or to other work than you do 
 every day now. But let each one of you say 
 to himself earnestly now, ' If he will help me, 
 I will follow him ; ' and instantly the angel of 
 God will write his name on the roll-call of that 
 great army.
 
 100 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " But his soldiers must be as he is. His 
 name is Faithful and True : they must bear it. 
 You must try to make it yours. You must be 
 faithful and true, faithful to his command- 
 ments, faithful in honoring him, faithful in 
 praying to him and in working for him, faithful 
 all day long, and every hour, and to the end of 
 your life. And then you must be true, true 
 in the words of your mouth and the thoughts 
 of your heart; true in every action and ap- 
 pearance. You must strive to be so, and beg 
 him to make you so. 
 
 "And then his soldiers must take up his 
 work. What is it ? ' In righteousness to 
 judge and make war.' Your work is not all 
 like his ; for he is to judge men, you and me 
 and the whole earth. You are to judge only 
 yourselves, your own thoughts and actions, 
 to judge all day long what is right and what is 
 wrong for yourself; to judge what pleasures 
 you must not have, what hard tasks you must 
 call your duty, what wishes you must deny. 
 And then you are. to make war, to make 
 war against sin everywhere ; war against all
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 101 
 
 lying and Sabbath -breaking and profanity 
 and intemperance and covetousness. You are 
 not too young nor too feeble to begin it. Do 
 not wait, delaying and looking about for your 
 steeds of strength and your shining garments : 
 God will supply them before you are aware. 
 Only trust him for that, and begin and follow 
 him. Do what little things you can for him 
 every day : keep remembering him, and wait- 
 ing to serve him. He will give you greater 
 and greater strength, and greater and greater 
 deeds to do for him ; and when he does visibly 
 come in glory with the armies of heaven, 
 surely your names shall be numbered in their 
 ranks." 
 
 The words were true and well-spoken. 
 Perhaps they sank deep in some tender minds, 
 half-comprehended, but to be held tenaciously 
 and revolved in thought again and again, till 
 the growing soul is able to grasp their meaning. 
 Perhaps the earnest manner in which they 
 were said has inspired a belief in things 
 unseen in hearts never lifted above sight and 
 sense before. But alas for the speaker!
 
 lil-J THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Alas for him who teaches and can not follow 
 his own teaching! for him who, taught in the 
 law, through breaking the law dishonors God ! 
 O Cyril ! where are your faith and truth ? 
 Where is the watchful judgment you are daily 
 passing upon your heart and life? Where 
 is the stern yet kindly warfare that you are 
 earnestly waging ? 
 
 Perhaps it may seem impossible to some that 
 thoughts like these to which I have described 
 Cyril as giving expression could take posses- 
 sion, even temporarily, of a man's mind, and 
 yet have no influence upon his life. But it is 
 a favorite device of Satan's to flatter a man 
 upon his mere perception of the truth, so that 
 in his complacency over his wisdom he forgets 
 to carry it into action. The hearer of the 
 word deceives himself, and fails to become a 
 doer of it. Just as Cyril did, he beholds him- 
 self, and goes his way, and straightway forgets 
 what manner of man he is. 
 
 At the close of the school, Cyril found 
 among the teachers a young lady whom he had 
 previously met, a pleasant, lively girl, who was
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 103 
 
 evidently pleased to claim acquaintance with 
 him, and who introduced him to some of her 
 companions. In their company, engaged in 
 lively conversation, he walked back to church. 
 His old happy, eelf-complacent frame of mind 
 had returned : not a trace was left of the 
 regret and dissatisfaction he had brought from 
 home, and carried in greater or less weight till 
 now. In talking to the children, he seemed to 
 have thrown off the thoughts of duty that had 
 oppressed him ; and, for a season, they vexed 
 him no more. 
 
 He sat in church, his mind running more 
 upon the little incidents of the afternoon, and 
 the conversation of the young ladies, than 
 upon the sermon to which he seemed to be 
 listening. He went to his room, to be followed 
 by Raddon and Benson and others, who would 
 commence talking over vacation experiences. 
 When the conversation waxed altogether too 
 noisy or profane, Cyril would try to quiet it by 
 such tact as he was master of. But he did not 
 make honest war upon it, as Seelye would have 
 done, showing its un suitableness to holy time,
 
 104 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 and setting himself to win them all to some 
 better occupation. There lay the Bible, hardly 
 more familiar to Tom than if he had been 
 born a Buddhist or a Brahmin ; and there were 
 the books of comment Cyril's father had de- 
 sired him to study, to help him discover the 
 depth of the riches of wisdom contained in its 
 pages. What if he had chosen to ask those 
 who loved him to study it with him at that 
 hour ? Might there not have been something 
 to have laid hold upon their interest in the 
 lives of Gideon and Samson and Barak, of 
 Jephtha and of David, those lives that had 
 struggled between the depravity of the natural 
 heart and the aspirations of the spiritual, till 
 the victory was given them by faith ? "Was 
 there nothing that could have pleased Cyril and 
 his friends, nothing they needed to contem- 
 plate in the tale of that Young Man who early 
 was tilled with the thoughts of his Father's 
 business ; who was holy, harmless, undeh'led ; 
 who pleased not himself; who gave his life, at 
 last, a ransom for many? Why, Cyril, why 
 have you not more of the spirit of him whom
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 105 
 
 you profess to follow ? It was not all with him 
 to draw to himself the love of publicans and 
 sinners, but through that love to lift their 
 thoughts with his away from earth to heaven. 
 If your course is not set so firmly that your 
 companions must needs follow it with you or 
 cease to be your companions, then must they 
 draw you into their Avay, as they are doing at 
 this hour. 
 
 After tea that Sunday evening, Nollie Stav- 
 ins came and asked Cyril to go with him to 
 church. But, before they started, Tom entered 
 the room. He wanted the solution of such 
 problems in to-morrow's lessons as he could not 
 at once understand. Cyril, though well ac- 
 quainted with his ways, and without any hope 
 of inducing him to change them, nevertheless 
 lightly reminded him that it was Sunday night, 
 and that he could not help him make such " a 
 heathen " of himself as to get his lessons now. 
 
 " Get my lessons ! " said Tom roughly. 
 " If you're concerned about my heathenism, 
 you'd better be glad it's only that. It's the 
 decentest thing I've done to-day, except going
 
 106 T1IK STOni' OF Cl'IilL 11IVERS. 
 
 to chapel because they made me ; and, if it 
 wasn't for these problems, I should be down at 
 Toby's rolling billiards this minute ! You 
 needn't look shocked ! " he continued, seeing 
 that both Cyril and Nollie looked disturbed at 
 this reminder of his bad habits : there are dif- 
 ferent ways for different people. You were 
 brought up among the saints, and it's easy for 
 you to go to church and be saints ; but I was 
 brought up among the heathen, and I have to 
 be a heathen and go play billiards." 
 
 To this statement of destiny, Cyril said noth- 
 ing : perhaps he half accepted it. But Stavins's 
 face flushed with earnestness. " There are 
 different kinds of people, Tom, and brought up 
 in different ways," he said : " but there is only 
 one commandment for all from God ; and that 
 is, ' Remember the Sabbath day to keep it 
 holy. ' " 
 
 Cyril would, by instinct, have spoken the 
 words more gently, not so rebukingly, so 
 that they would not have ruffled Tom, while 
 they convicted him. But Cyril, take notice, 
 did not speak them at all.
 
 THE MISSION SCHOOL. 107 
 
 Tom scowled and looked vexed. After a 
 minute, lie declared gruffly, that, commandment 
 or no, he must have those problems to-night. 
 " Will you let me take yours, Rivers," he said, 
 " or must I go chasing round to get Sine, or 
 somebody else, to do me such a little favor ? " 
 
 Cyril reluctantly reached the papers upon 
 which he had worked out his problems, and 
 put them in Tom's hand. " It's no use," he 
 said, in an undertone, excusing himself to 
 Stavins : " he'll do it any way ; and there's no 
 chance to keep any influence over him at all 
 except to show one's self friendly." 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't study to-night, Tom," 
 he said seriously ; " but do promise one thing, 
 at any rate, and that is, when you get through 
 with these, not to go down to ' Toby's.' You 
 know he keeps that saloon open Sunday nights 
 contrary to law ; and the police are likely to be 
 down upon it any time. If you fellows are 
 found there you'll be sent straight out of col- 
 lege. Keep away from there, Tom, to-night, 
 at any rate." 
 
 " Hang it all ! " said Tom, as he hastily took
 
 108 THE STORY OF CYRIL RISERS. 
 
 the papers and turned away : " do you think I 
 dpn't know there's a risk? That's half the 
 fun in this slow place." 
 
 Cyril's effort was made in worldly wisdom, 
 and it produced not the least effect; Stavins 
 had spoken in genuine zeal for truth, and his 
 words, too, seemed to have failed of any result. 
 But, in reality, they were still uppermost in 
 Tom's mind. " One commandment for all ! 
 one commandment for all ! " he muttered to 
 himself; " and that when it would be so hard 
 for me to be like them ! " At every interval of 
 his work, the words returned to his thought and 
 made him restless and uneasy. He did not go 
 to the billiard saloon that night, but it was not 
 the fear of the officers of the law that kept him 
 away.
 
 THE HEADY WHITES. 109 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE READY WRITER. 
 
 "The righteous man falling down before the wicked is as a 
 troubled fountain and a corrupt spring." 
 
 'YRIL continued his attendance 
 at the Sunday school. There was 
 much to attract him there. His 
 going soothed his conscience after a 
 week of selfish occupations, without any 
 thought of the service of God. The tokens of 
 
 O 
 
 love and confidence he won from his class, and 
 the signs of his influence over them, were a 
 perpetual and ever-new source of pleasure to 
 him. Their improvement in conduct and ap- 
 pearance was noticed by others in the school 
 besides himself. It was owing, no doubt, not 
 so much to what he taught them as to their 
 admiration of the teacher, and their natural 
 imitation of him. He was to them a re vela-
 
 110 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 tion of a life possessed of powers and pleasures 
 greater than they could have dreamed of; and 
 he offered them, in himself, a model easier to 
 see and copy than the Great One he had been 
 set to show forth to them. 
 
 Besides the pleasures his class gave him, the 
 teachers of the school, co-operating in the con- 
 duct of its affairs, afforded him society of the 
 pleasantest kind, because it was a society 
 enlivened by and interested in the joint prose- 
 cution of a useful work. Its meetings had 
 business that concerned every member, and 
 drew out the best thoughts and pleasantest 
 characteristics of each, bringing about a very 
 agreeable kind of converse. Moreover, Cyril 
 soon found himself as great a favorite in these 
 gatherings as he was elsewhere. He was so 
 full of spirits, and such a quick-witted and 
 graceful speaker, that his way was always the 
 popular way. 
 
 Cyril had begun this year with renewed 
 ambition as a student. He began well, and 
 for the first few weeks rose rapidly in scholar- 
 ship, and fought manfully to keep clear of out-
 
 THE READY WRITER. Ill 
 
 side engagements, that thick and fast crowded 
 to claim his attention. But, through his friends 
 in college and in the Sunday school, he had 
 made an extended and pleasant acquaintance 
 among the livelier society of the place ; and 
 from that quarter, as well as from the solicita- 
 tions of his fellow-students, temptations were 
 continually offering themselves. One day, 
 early in the winter, he received an invitation 
 to attend a set of sociables. They were to 
 meet fortnightly at the pleasantest houses in 
 town, and to offer various entertainments, 
 charades and tableaux, music and dancing. 
 The young lady who detailed this delightful 
 plan to Cyril was sure that he would be a most 
 invaluable assistant in the gayety, and had, 
 moreover, been instructed by the clique of 
 friends with whom she was acting to say that 
 he must on no account refuse his attendance 
 and co-operation. It did not need her earnest 
 effort to make the plan appear attractive to 
 Cyril, with his lively imagination and social 
 tastes ; yet she could not, with all her pretty 
 coaxing, persuade him to give his consent to it
 
 112 THE STORY OF CYRIL EIVERS. 
 
 at once. Ho was evidently sincere in saying 
 how much her plan attracted him ; but he 
 declared he must have time to consider it, and 
 that she must not he surprised if he refused it. 
 He urged his studies, and the pressure of many 
 other engagements upon his time, as his excuse, 
 and left her admiringly impressed, not only 
 with his good looks and pleasant manners, hut 
 his devotion to duty, and steadfastness in resist- 
 ing temptation. 
 
 Uut it was all a mistake. Cyril was not 
 thinking of his duty at all. It offered him 
 a good ground for withdrawal when he did not 
 like to tell the truth, which was, that he could 
 not bear the slight expenses such entertain- 
 ments must entail upon him. He had in many 
 unexpected ways, not wantonly, but as it seemed 
 almost by necessity, strained his father's bounty 
 to its utmost limits : he had found, since 
 coming to college, so many more wants, and 
 they had been so much more costly than he 
 had anticipated. He knew he could not ask 
 even for a very little more money. He was 
 willing to wear the best suit he had, though it
 
 THE READY WRITER. 113 
 
 was rather worn and: past the style ; but then 
 there were the etceteras, white gloves, fresh 
 neck-ties, shoes more suitable than his rough 
 walking-boots. There was the occasional ne- 
 cessity to pay carriage-fare for ladies, and all 
 the little incidental expenses with which society 
 charges its favorites, which Cyril had experi- 
 ence enough to know were constant and inevi- 
 table. He had been caught by them before : 
 they always counted lightly in the first place, 
 but in the end were sure to amount to what, to 
 a man whose every dollar was spared him for 
 some necessary purpose, would, at least, be a 
 matter of consideration. 
 
 The more Cyril thought over the invitation, 
 the more he was tempted ; and the more he was 
 tempted, the more the want of means per- 
 plexed and baffled him. One evening he 
 sat in his room writing a composition. He 
 was a fluent and able writer for his years, 
 so ingenious he never failed for argument, 
 so well-read he always had facts and illus- 
 trations in proof, and so imaginative that his 
 pages never lacked the ornaments of fancy.
 
 114 TEE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Writing was an easy task to him, but he liked 
 to take pains with it. The subject this time 
 was one for debate ; and Cyril, to please him- 
 self, had written down all the arguments he 
 could think of upon the most favorable side of 
 the question, and then, with the utmost inge- 
 nuity, answered them, one after another, in the 
 essay he meant to read in the class. Pie was 
 engaged in putting the finishing touches to this 
 essay which would be called for to-morrow 
 morning when Tom Raddon came to his 
 room. Tom groaned aloud when he saw 
 the papers upon Cyril's desk. Cyril under- 
 stood him with the vexed solicitude of a careful 
 older brother over a careless, stupid, younger 
 one. 
 
 " Haven't you done your essay, Raddon ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Hang it, no ! " said Tom. 
 
 It was Cyril's turn to groan now. " You 
 said you'd do it in season this once," he said. 
 
 " I know it ; but how could I ? There 
 hasn't been a minute's time, if I'd had oceans, 
 instead of nothing whatever, to say. I might
 
 THE READY WRITER. 115 
 
 as well fail again, I suppose : I've flunked 
 every lesson, so far, right through the week." 
 
 " You can't go on in this way much longer," 
 said Cyril. 
 
 Tom muttered, that, as thee could not be a 
 worse way, perhaps it was a good thing that 
 he could not. Cyril cast about for some motive 
 that would have weight in remonstrating with 
 him. 
 
 " Don't you ever think of the future, Tom ? " 
 he asked. " I thought you were here to pre- 
 pare yourself for political life." 
 
 " So my father said," answered Tom reck- 
 lessly : " and I guess he was right ; for all the 
 politicians, as far as I can see, are about as pro- 
 ficient in billiards and mixed drinks as any 
 thing else." 
 
 Cyril was vexed. " Stop talking like a fool, 
 Raddon," he said quite sharply. " Why can't 
 you listen to reason ? you know it's time you 
 did." 
 
 Such a tone was so unusual for him that it 
 did not anger Tom, only sobered him. He 
 had such a genuine affection for this friend,
 
 116 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 that, when he saw him really vexed and dis- 
 turbed, he was sorry. He looked, in a moment, 
 curiously humble, subdued, and serious. 
 
 " Yes: it's time, Rivers," he said. " I will 
 listen. Do, if yeu can, talk a little reason to 
 me, and a little what do you call it ? a 
 little conscience too. I guess I need it." 
 
 There was in his mind at that moment some 
 good longing for vital instruction. If Cyril 
 had been living an earnest life himself, so that 
 his mind had been full of earnest thoughts, 
 here would have been the golden opportunity 
 for speaking them. Tom, whom he had sup- 
 posed ignorant of the very existence of such a 
 thing, had asked him to speak of conscience. 
 But there was nothing in Cyril's heart which 
 prompted him to make the right use of the 
 moment. He failed his friend miserably. 
 
 " You almost never study, Tom," he said. 
 " You waste your time awfully. If you don't 
 look out, you'll be dropped from the class at 
 the end of this year ; and you told me that 
 when your father sent you here, he said if he 
 found out you did not show yourself as smart
 
 THE READY WRITER. 117 
 
 as the rest of us at your books, he would cut 
 you off without a shilling. I say you've got to 
 change your course." 
 
 " Oh, yes, confound it ! but how can I ? " 
 said Tom, somehow disappointed to hear again 
 the same old story of caution that Cyril was so 
 often telling. " You've said it a thousand 
 times, and I know it as well as you ; but that 
 does not do any good." 
 
 " Well, you've got to do something about 
 it ! " said Cyril. " Just cut that lazy crowd 
 you are going with, and begin to work." 
 
 " But I've tried it three times this term, I 
 tell you, and it's no use. The fellows won't 
 let me alone. Besides, when I work like a 
 horse, I don't seem to make any headway with 
 my lessons. And, confound it all, what is life 
 "worth if you've got to work like a drudge 
 through the very best part of it ? I tell you, 
 I never shall have such years, nor such good 
 fellowship, again in this world as I have here 
 now ; and I'll enjoy them while I have them. 
 My father needn't expect I shall do otherwise." 
 
 Where were Cyril's reasons of worldly wis-
 
 118 THE ,STO/?I' OF CYRIL RIVERS'. 
 
 dom and prudence now ? Tom had out-argued 
 them. If we live for pleasure and the gratifi- 
 cation of selfishness, surely it is best to snatch 
 them now, when youth and health, and the 
 shining present, make them most fresh and de- 
 lightful. Cyril sat in silence, discomfited to see 
 how powerless his earnestness had proved. 
 
 " But you haven't made up your mind to fail 
 utterly? " he said, at last. " You've got some 
 ambition left. Can't you see how these 
 things would help you ? This debate-writing, 
 now : you ought to practice it voluntarily, in- 
 stead of shirking it. If you won't climb the 
 steps to your profession, you'll never reach it." 
 
 " Well, I did try in earnest on those things," 
 said Tom ; " and, to judge from the results, I 
 should think I was the last man to make a 
 writer or a speaker. There wasn't a line old 
 M'Tafor didn't correct. The grammar was 
 wrong, and the spelling was wrong, and even 
 the ideas, he said, were inexcusably mistaken 
 and wrong. Then we've had such subjects ! 
 I didn't know any more about them than about 
 the moon. How could I write about them ? "
 
 THE READY WRITER. 119 
 
 " Why don't you hunt up a little informa- 
 tion ? " said Cyril. 
 
 " There's no time. The hours go off like 
 ~ smoke, and I dont know where they go to. 
 They've all gone this week, and this talk won't 
 help me to-morrow." 
 
 " Here's paper and ink," said Cyril : " begin 
 and write something now." 
 
 " But I haven't the first idea what to write. 
 How do I know whether ' liberty or law is the 
 best educator ' ? " 
 
 Cyril was perplexed. He had no mind to 
 go into such an explanation of the subject as 
 would awaken Tom's interest and thought 
 about it ; but some such talk seemed imposed 
 upon him if he would save his friend a failure. 
 He was thinking how he should throw into 
 condensed form the main thoughts upon the 
 subject for Tom's benefit, when the latter saved 
 him the trouble. Tom had drawn his chair to 
 the table, and was idly turning over the papers 
 that lay upon it, when he came upon Cyril's 
 rough draught of the arguments to be refuted 
 in his essay.
 
 120 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " What's this ? " said Tom, as lie began 
 reading it aloud ; " not your essay ? " 
 
 " No : only a statement of the other side of 
 the question." 
 
 " But it's good enough for an essay, better 
 than the best I could write. It just helps me 
 'out of my scrape. Sell it to me, Rivers. I'll 
 give you two dollars for it." 
 
 " No : I don't want to sell it," said Cyril, 
 much vexed. " You can't have it : M'Tafor 
 would know at once it wasn't yours." 
 
 " He wouldn't," said Tom ; " and, if he did, 
 how could he prove it ? Besides, I'll fix it up. 
 I begin to see what it all means, now I've 
 read this. I'll have a composition that can't be 
 beat. I shall send it for my father to read. 
 He'll think I'm the greatest man going. Just 
 hand me that pen, old fellow." 
 
 Tom never seemed to see any reason why he 
 should not seize what he wanted, whatever 
 objections were made. Cyril's feeble remon- 
 strances he cast away like the wind ; and Cyril 
 was too much in the habit of yielding to him to 
 make any very determined resistance. Cyril
 
 THE READY WRITER. 121 
 
 did not want the paper ; and, though he had not 
 voluntarily accepted it, yet he did want the 
 money Tom had offered for the purchase. He 
 could not help it, he said to himself, if Tom 
 chose to cheat himself and his teacher. Tom 
 had got the paper in his hands now, and would 
 not give it up again. Perhaps, after all, it 
 would not give him more help than Cyril must 
 have done by talking with him about the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 So Cyril allowed Tom to get paper and ink, 
 and begin copying the abstract of arguments. 
 He wrote it in a sprawling handwriting, which 
 made the matter upon two lines of Cyril's man- 
 uscript extend half-way down the page of his 
 own. That was a trick of self-deception 
 brought with him out of childhood, by which 
 he once fancied, and perhaps even yet fancied, 
 his composition would appear the longer for 
 taking up the more space upon paper. But, 
 having caught from what he wrote some inter- 
 est in its meaning, he soon began interpolating 
 ideas of his own ; and Cyril saw him biting 
 his nails and rubbing his hair into confusion, in
 
 1^2 TIIK STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 the effort to bring his thoughts to expression. 
 There was silence in the room while he worked. 
 Cyril finished his own work and put it away. 
 The quiet satisfaction which he had felt about 
 it before Tom came in was destroyed. He 
 was disturbed in heart. He took a book, and 
 tried to read, but his mind wandered. He 
 must needs think of Tom. He wondered why 
 it was, that, because the fellow followed him and 
 hung upon him, he must feel an irksome sense 
 of responsibility for Tom. He had not sought 
 his friendship in the first place : why must he 
 feel guilty at the thought of Tom's getting 
 into trouble and disgrace ? Why did he care 
 any thing about him ? and especially why must 
 he feel that he ought to care for him much 
 more than he had ever done ; be kinder to him, 
 yet severer with him ; do more for him, yet 
 deny him more, cultivate his friendship, yet 
 resist his ideas ? Cyril had done violence to 
 this feeling many times, but he could not now 
 dismiss it from his mind. There was trouble in 
 his conscience on Tom's account that he could 
 not reason away. No wonder it was so.
 
 THE READY WRITER. 123 
 
 Those whose affection God gives us he in a 
 manner lays upon us : their safety and welfare 
 are, to a certain extent, our charge. Does he 
 give us influence over any one, he will call us 
 to account for the power. Have we been too 
 indolent or inefficient to exercise it, or have we 
 done so only to amuse and gratify ourselves, 
 one day we shall be called to confess and to 
 mourn over the misused or buried talent. 
 Nay, the punishment will not wait till that day. 
 It begins with the sin. The clinging object 
 that we will not lift up with us toward heaven 
 will draw us down to the earth by its own 
 weight. 
 
 If Cyril caught a glimpse of this truth as he 
 sat musing over the unheeded pages of his 
 book, he did not try to obtain a nearer view. 
 From Tom and his writing his mind soon wan- 
 dered to pleasanter themes. There lay the 
 two-dollar note that Tom, asking no consent 
 but his own to the exchange, had laid down in 
 place of the essay. How strange it seemed, 
 Cyril thought, that one should throw his money 
 about like that ! No doubt Tom would almost
 
 124 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 forget he had paid it, just as, having paid it, 
 and so, as he supposed, made the essay entirely 
 his own, he would almost forget he had not 
 originated every word of that. But that note 
 now represented to Cyril the white gloves that 
 helped make Miss Kerlie's sociable possible to 
 him. His mind wandered to thoughts of that 
 bright-eyed young lady, and of the pleasures 
 she had planned, and the flattering desire she 
 had so urgently expressed to have him take 
 part in them. 
 
 His self-complacency was restored. In the 
 midst of many pleasing visions, his mind soon 
 ran astray, vanity getting the mastery of it. 
 So that at last, when, toward twelve o'clock, 
 Tom held up his finished composition, saying, 
 " There, old fellow, I'm gloriously fixed for to- 
 morrow ; and thank you for it ! " Cyril an- 
 swered from the midst of his dreams, " You 
 needn't, Tom : at that price " pointing to the 
 note " I'd like to write compositions for the 
 whole division." 
 
 O Cyril ! how could you say it without 
 shame ? Think what it is that you propose to
 
 THE READY WRITER. 125 
 
 cover your hands with, that they may be spot- 
 less enough to offer to gentle ladies ! It is the 
 price of a lie ! It should seem to you that the 
 whitest gloves bought with that money would 
 turn black upon your palms, and that any true 
 hand would instinctively draw back from the 
 contact with yours. 
 
 Cyril spoke as he did, wantonly, in an hour 
 when reason and conscience had fallen asleep, 
 and vanity was uppermost ; but the words 
 brought the temptation they challenged. Tom 
 read his essay in the class next day with a 
 pompous, boastful air, that exceedingly amused 
 his friends. They perceived at once that he 
 was not its author. When they bantered him 
 about it, he readily told its story, repeating, 
 moreover, for their benefit, Cyril's foolish wish. 
 
 The consequence was, that the next Friday 
 evening a knot of idle fellows, unprepared with 
 their essays, yet more in jest than in earnest, 
 betook themselves to Cyril's room. " Riv- 
 ers ! " they cried, entering with a great noise 
 of talk and laughter, " behold your fellow-men 
 in trouble ! We've come for help ! "
 
 126 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " What's wanted ? " cried Cyril cheerfullly 
 looking up from his book. 
 
 " We want you to write us each a composi 
 tion, as you did Raddon." 
 
 Cyril was taken by surprise. His faco 
 clouded a little. " One, two, three, four, 
 five!" lie said, counting: "five of you that 
 haven't written your essays ! What a division 
 ours is ! I wonder you ain't ashamed to give it 
 such a reputation for ' flunking.' ' 
 
 " We are," said Sine readily ; " for the 
 honor of the division don't let us go up to old 
 M'Tafor empty-handed ! We don't want to 
 disgrace it so." 
 
 "Empty-handed!" said Cyril: "that's one 
 thing ; but empty-headed is another ! I could 
 not help that, you know, if I was to try." 
 
 " No :. we wouldn't ask it ; but won't you 
 write our essays for us ? We'll plank you 
 down a dollar apiece if you will. Say, now ! " 
 
 " You really suppose," said Cyril, " that I 
 can write five original essays, diverse in style 
 and sentiment, for you lazy fellows ? " 
 
 " Lazy fellows ! hear the ingrate ! " cried
 
 THE READY WRITER. 127 
 
 Benson. " Remember this, Uivers," and, put- 
 ting on the manner of his teacher, he began to 
 quote some of his words to the class : " ' The 
 advantage of practice in this kind of writing 
 can hardly be estimated. It furnishes a man 
 with a sort of gauge of his acquirements 
 and his command of them. It gives ease of 
 expression, readiness, ingenuity, and clearness 
 in argument, and affords a motive for gaining 
 useful information upon the topics discussed." 
 See, then, what we offer you, thoughtless 
 youth ! One essay is such a benefit, and we 
 give you the chance to write five ! You 
 couldn't be so blind to your own advantage as 
 to refuse ! " 
 
 Cyril laughed, and yet his quick, selfish wis- 
 dom caught in earnest the idea so jestingly 
 offered. He was silent a moment ; and then he 
 said, rather soberly, " Well, fellows, that's not 
 such nonsense after all. I should think it 
 would be a vdty curious exercise to write six 
 different essays on the same subject, and see 
 how nearly you could suit each one to the man 
 you wrote it for. I'd just like to try it to see 
 what I could do."
 
 128 THE STORY OF CTRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " Oh, do ! " cried Benson in delight. " You 
 can do it as easy as fun. What a joke on old 
 M'Tafor ! and what luck for us boys ! " 
 
 " But can he really do it ? " asked Baum 
 incredulously. " Five essays on the same sub- 
 ject ! Avhy, I don't believe anybody could ! " 
 
 " He isn't like you, you stupid ! " answered 
 Benson : " he can do any thing in the writing 
 line ! " 
 
 " Only there's so short a time," said Cyril ; 
 " only between now and to-morrow morning. 
 I don't know that I want to lose my night's 
 sleep for a joke, or an experiment, either." 
 
 " But think of the five dollars ! " said Benson : 
 "you said the other day you wanted some 
 money." 
 
 " So I do," said Cyril frankly. " To tell 
 the truth, fellows, I've got to have some, or lose 
 half the fun that goes on this winter. So clear 
 out, and I'll see what I can do for you. Only, 
 mind, I don't make any promises ; and, if you 
 don't like what you get, you needn't complain." 
 
 ' All right," said Benson. "No danger of 
 that ! The luck's too good to be believed ! "
 
 THE READY WHITER. 129 
 
 " Write mine first," he turned to say, as 
 they were going out the door. " No, mine 
 first ! " cried the others ; and then some one 
 began appropriately to sing, 
 
 " So say we all of us, 
 So say we all ; " 
 
 and to that song they marched away. 
 
 Cyril, left alone, smothered uneasy reflec- 
 tions by setting himself to his task. He for- 
 got its unlawfulness, because it interested his 
 fancy, and gave him room to exercise his inge- 
 nuity and imitative skill. He found the work 
 not so hard as he had expected. His best 
 ideas were not needed in any of the composi- 
 tions he was writing now ; for the men he wrote 
 for were none of them as well informed or as 
 accustomed to thinking as himself. He took 
 some of the surface thoughts, and put them 
 into such a form of expression as he knew the 
 pretended authors would be likely to make use 
 of; in one case setting them forth abruptly and 
 in disorder ; in another, spinning them out with 
 empty and unmeaning phrases ; in a third,
 
 130 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 han<nn<r them over with flaunting flowers of 
 
 O O O 
 
 rhetoric, or swelling them into splurgy flights 
 of sounding sentences. The work began to 
 afford him extreme amusement. He smiled to 
 himself, and sometimes laughed aloud, as some 
 expression that was exactly characteristic of the 
 man he was writing for occurred to him. 
 Every paper that he laid by was a triumph of 
 wit and skill that delighted him. He could 
 imagine the applause his clever work would 
 bring him, and the sly mirth among the young 
 men in the class-room, to-morrow, at the tutor's 
 deception, and no less at the expense of the 
 unconscious readers, whose peculiarities he had 
 so happily hit off in those five characteristic 
 essays. 
 
 As he finished and folded the last one, the 
 clock in the chapel tower was striking two. 
 He leaned back in his chair, smiling in compla- 
 cent revery. He thought he had done one of 
 the cleverest things of his whole college course. 
 Nor did the remembrance of the five dollars 
 he was to be paid for his work discontent him. 
 It opened to him fancies of triumphs sweeter
 
 THE READY WRITER. 131 
 
 than even those among his classmates, the 
 triumphs of a favorite in gay society. How 
 easily we are satisfied to measure ourselves by 
 the light words of flattery the world will give 
 us ! to exaggerate m fancy its delight in our 
 
 oo / o 
 
 society, and its opinion of our attractiveness 
 and brilliancy ! Have you ever seen, dear 
 reader, some poor inmate of a mad-house who 
 fancied himself a monarch, who called his fan- 
 tastic rags silk and ermine, his tinsel-decked 
 staff a scepter, and his pasteboard tiara a golden 
 crown ? who, complacent in his fancied state, 
 smiled down with condescension upon all other 
 men? How little in hours of vanity do we 
 differ from him ! Give the mind, so well gov- 
 erned, a little flattery, even a little deserved 
 praise, a manifestation of unusual love, a 
 glimpse of some small success, and straightway 
 we sit down like the madman, and inflate the 
 plain and ordinary circumstances of our lives 
 into airy castles, and enthrone therein ourselves, 
 glorified with wonderful wit, goodness, and 
 beauty, and surrounded with the admiring 
 homage and deep devotion of many lovers and
 
 132 THE STORY OF CYRIL R2FERS. 
 
 friends. We say to ourselves at such times, 
 " I am more fortunate than other men, better 
 gifted ; mj judgment is so good, my disposition 
 is so sweet, I win admiration without an effort." 
 When we are tranced in such foolish happiness, 
 Avith more pity than we look upon the madman, 
 God, who knows in truth how miserable and 
 blind and wanting in all things we are, looks 
 down upon us ; and upon sucli hours, when 
 the humiliation sure to come has opened our 
 eyes, with what scorn and shame do we look 
 back! 
 
 Into such an infatuation of vanity, Cyril had 
 fallen, an infatuation in which men have 
 many times been liars and cheats, and gone 
 about afterward with complacent minds, aston- 
 ished to hear the world call them reprobates. 
 Cyril was dazzled by looking at his own gifts 
 more than at the fullness of the Giver. He 
 went to bed prayerless that night ; for he felt 
 no need of prayer.
 
 PLEASURE WON, AND HONOR LOST, 133 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PLEASURE WON, AND HONOR LOST. 
 " The end of that mirth is heaviness." 
 
 TILL under the influence of such 
 a mood as I have described in 
 the last chapter, increased by the suc- 
 cess of his essays, and the wonder 
 and amusement of his classmates over 
 them, Cyril went the next evening to see Miss 
 Kerlie. Behold him happily at home in the 
 beautiful drawing-room, ensconced in a luxuri- 
 ous easy-chair by the piano, where the young 
 lady entertains him, now with a little music, 
 and now with lively chat, and all the while 
 with the sight of her pretty dress, and animated, 
 smiling face. She is telling him of her plans 
 for the party, with which she is to open the 
 series that Cyril has promised to attend. It is 
 to be a charade-party ; but she wishes to make
 
 134 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 it altogether original and brilliant, arranged so 
 as to be as interesting to the audience as to 
 the actors. But she has thought over it so 
 much, and considered so many plans, that she 
 is quite worried and confused, and can not 
 decide which to adopt. She wishes Mr. Rivers 
 would give her the help of his judgment. She 
 is sure he has taste and skill in such matters, 
 and could help her make the affair a perfect 
 success. 
 
 Cyril is nothing loth, and they look over the 
 charade-books together. It appears to Cyril 
 that the most satisfactory plays his companion 
 has been able to discover are not as original or 
 as pretty and witty as she could wish them to 
 be. The wish to please her sets his imagina- 
 tion at work ; and some bright ideas upon which 
 to get up an evening's entertainment, superior 
 to any of those mentioned in the book, come into 
 his mind. He lays them before her as attract- 
 ively as he knows how. She is delighted, and 
 casts away her book at once. Mr. Rivers has 
 described exactly what she was in search of. 
 It would be charming. If he can help her get
 
 PLEASURE WON, AND HONOR LOST. 135 
 
 up something of that kind, how much obliged 
 to him she shall be ! So, when the evening 
 had been passed in pleasant discussion, Cyril 
 goes away engaged to write Miss Kerlie's 
 charades. 
 
 His mind is working over them all the way 
 home : it is full of pretty fancies, and odd and 
 bright conceits. Though it is ten o'clock on 
 Saturday night when he reaches his room, he 
 loses no time in getting pen and paper to give 
 his thoughts shape in words. Midnight comes 
 upon him while he is still absorbed in the work. 
 He lingers over it, and can not bear to put it 
 aside, though the first hours of the Sabbath 
 have arrived. He does not put it out of his 
 mind. He dreams over it ; and when he wakes 
 late the next morning, and hurries through his 
 toilet while the prayer-bell is ringing its last 
 peals, his thoughts revert again to the work 
 they hardly left when he fell asleep. 
 
 He is languid and tired this morning, and 
 has a feeling, which makes him vexed and 
 peevish, of having but little control over mind 
 or body. His feet stumble upon the stairs ; his
 
 136 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 1 Kinds fumble in trying to find the place in the 
 hymn-book ; his head and eyes are heavy ; and 
 his thoughts, how they will run upon things he 
 should forget at this hour ! He can not listen 
 
 O 
 
 to the Scripture or the prayer. Miss Kerlie's 
 bright parlor, her conversation, her charades, 
 will occupy his imagination in spite of all his 
 efforts, till he almost hates them for haunting 
 him so. It is partly the want of sleep that ails 
 Cyril : he has defrauded himself of rest almost 
 every night this Aveek ; and he must pay the 
 penalty mentally and physically. But he suf- 
 fers no less in temper from having for a while 
 lost the government of his mind in giving him- 
 self up to the pleasing delusions of vanity. 
 There is dissipation without the wine-cup, or 
 the gaming-table, or noisy companions. All 
 those fall into it who lose the rule over them- 
 selves in any feeling, whether of anxiety, love, 
 covetousness, or self-complacency. Diminish- 
 ing of strength and scattering of powers are 
 always its sad consequences ; and all are liable 
 to them whose lives are not bound steadfastly 
 back to the Giver's, made hourly subject to his 
 laws, and recipients of his grace.
 
 PLEASURE WON, AND HONOR LOST. 137 
 
 That Sunday was a restless day of discontent 
 to Cyril. No word in the service of the chapel 
 seemed to take hold upon his mind to comfort 
 or please him, or to clear away the vain 
 thoughts that clouded it. At Sunday school he 
 revived a little ; for Clara Kerlie was there, and 
 smiled at him from across the room, and the 
 society of scholars and teachers seemed to 
 restore him. But it was only the little taste of 
 favor and flattery that he contrived to extract 
 from their society, that had pleased him again 
 for a while, and it soon left him as unhappy as 
 before. 
 
 The week-days that followed, however, 
 brought him enough of what he craved. His 
 charades written out and approved, that was 
 not enough. He must supervise the elaborate 
 arrangements for their getting up, select the 
 actors, and direct the acting, take the chief part 
 himself, and inspire all the others. He found 
 enough to keep him busy with Miss Kerlie and 
 her gay companions every spare moment of the 
 next two weeks. And, when the charades had 
 passed off brilliantly, they proved but the
 
 138 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 beginning of engagements of the same kind. 
 Cyril was admired and popular : he wa;> beset 
 with invitations to great parties and small ; he 
 was asked to assist at theatricals and musicals 
 and dancing soirees ; and everywhere he was 
 flattered. 
 
 These temptations were of a kind he could 
 not resist : he fell into them recklessly. He 
 lost the fresh ambition he had brought back to 
 college, in a few months of this pleasure-seeking. 
 He declared to himself, that he could, at all 
 events, be a respectable scholar, and that to 
 work so hard and self-denyingly to be a shining 
 one was not worth while. He foi'got his father ; 
 he forgot the uses of industry that had once 
 seemed so bright even to a selfish view ; sad- 
 dest of all, he forgot his covenant vows, when, 
 in the presence of God, of angels, and the 
 church assembly, he had promised to live 
 soberly, righteously, and godly in this present 
 world, looking for the appearing of the Lord. 
 What a contrast the life described in those words 
 presented to his own ! 
 
 But there is this comfort in thinking of Cyril,
 
 PLEASURE WON, AND HONOR LOST. 139 
 
 and of all, who, like him, have gone astray, God 
 has not forgotten his promises to them, though 
 they have betrayed theirs to him. Night and 
 day, he watches over them, waiting for time to 
 send an awakening voice. Night and. day, his 
 hand is upon the circumstances of their lives, 
 using each to do his loving will ; till, when his 
 erring children have wandered on as far as to 
 the bitter punishment they have laid up for 
 themselves, he may bring them back in repent- 
 ance to his feet. 
 
 The first complication Cyril found in his 
 career was its cost. He thought he had pro- 
 vided for that when he sold the essays. But 
 he had not calculated for a change in his feel- 
 ings about expenditure. The sight of elegance 
 begets the wish for it. Constant intercourse 
 with those who spend lavishly tempts to the 
 like carelessness in those whose means are 
 scanty. ' It was not long before Cyril, coming 
 into a brilliant parlor, and threading his way 
 among the beautiful trails of lace and silk and 
 satin, felt his homely, rusty coat out of place, 
 and kept himself studiously from near contrast
 
 140 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 with Harry Richman, in his shining dress-suit, 
 laced shirt-front, and diamond studs. There 
 was no help tor him in that respect, however ; 
 and he could resign himself the better, that the 
 fairest lady of all would rather have his com- 
 pany than Harry's, for all his splendor. But 
 there were little expenses Cyril could not help 
 indulging in : there were the concert tickets he 
 was tempted to buy for the ladies of whose 
 hospitality he had been the recipient ; and 
 there was the fair they had got up for some 
 benevolent purpose, that it would have been 
 discourteous, certainly, for him not to invest 
 in. A hundred such ways of spending, that 
 gave his companions not a moment's thought, 
 embarrassed him every day. No wonder he 
 resorted again and again to writing composi- 
 tions, for which there Avas always a demand. 
 It took time he could ill spare, and he felt that 
 it was degrading work. But most dangerous 
 of all was the fact, that, relying upon this 
 resource, Cyril grew all the while less self- 
 denying and more extravagant, often exceeding 
 the money in hand, and finding debts more
 
 PLEASURE WON, AND HONOR LOST. 141 
 
 easily made than canceled. In such ^extremi- 
 ties, it was another misfortune that Tom Raddon 
 was at hand, glad to lend his friend any thing 
 he asked. " 
 
 When a man's character is lowering ever so 
 slightly, how soon the fact is known among his 
 fellows! If they love him, they do not speak 
 of it ; but they know it all the same. Cyril's 
 classmates admired him for his talents, and 
 loved him for his gentle, pleasant disposition. 
 They never blamed him publicly or privately ; 
 yet his standing in their respect was not quite 
 as high as it had been last year. His acts 
 were, of course, patent among them. It was 
 well known by most of them that he wrote 
 compositions for sale, that he was in Raddon's 
 debt, and that he was more occupied with gay 
 society than was right for a man in his position. 
 Though they never censured him, they knew 
 he was doing wrong. So instinctively were 
 they silent concerning his actions among those 
 who would be shocked by them, that John 
 Seelye, very much occupied in his own pursuits, 
 had never yet heard of the things of which I 
 have been telling you.
 
 142 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVE US. 
 
 But, one Friday evening, Seclye and Stavins 
 were passing Cyril's room on their way to the 
 prayer-meeting. " I wonder," said John, look- 
 ing up at the light in the windows, " if Rivers 
 would not go with us to-night." 
 
 " It's Friday night," said Stavins. " I am 
 afraid he'll be busy writing the fellows' essays." 
 
 " The fellows' essays ! " said John surprised. 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Nollie, " I thought you knew. 
 I forgot. Never mind about it." 
 
 " But what do you mean ? " persisted John. 
 
 "Why," said Nollie, "you see the fellows 
 get belated with their compositions, and they 
 pay him to write them for them, he writes so 
 easily. I wish he wouldn't do it ; but none of 
 them seem to 'think it's any harm." 
 
 " Are you sure he does that ? Do you know 
 positively ? " asked John. He spoke with so 
 severe a tone, that Nollie, frightened for Cyril, 
 tried his best to say truthfully something that 
 might exculpate him. 
 
 " I never saw him do it," he said, " nor 
 talked about it with any of the fellows he did
 
 PLEASURE WON, AND HONOR LOST. 143 
 
 it for. But it is the common story. I have 
 got used to hearing it : I thought you had. I 
 should not have spoken of it." 
 
 " No, you should not," said John earnestly. 
 " There can't be any truth in it. No man 
 could do such a thino- who was not lost to 
 
 O 
 
 shame. I could hardly believe it of Rivers if 
 I heard it from his own lips. It's gossip, got 
 up because of his patience with Raddon and 
 that childish set. They hang round him as the 
 poor boys do in our mission school. He has 
 got some strange gift for pleasing and influen- 
 cing them. Don't tell me, that, instead of trying 
 to do them good, he would lend himself to 
 ruining them. I will not believe it." 
 
 John was much agitated. His thoughts had 
 flown to the mission school, to Cyril's work 
 there, to his influence, his speeches, his prayers. 
 Could it be that this man John had thought 
 likely to be so useful was false ? John loved 
 the school ; and the bare suspicion filled him 
 with jealousy for its welfare. Well it might ; 
 for, though the story were proved to be slander- 
 ous, its very existence was prejudicial to Cyril.
 
 144 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 It could not have gained credence for a moment 
 about a thoroughly true man like John. 
 
 Nollie Stavins knew in his heart that the 
 story was true ; but he was willing enough to let 
 John disbelieve it. No more was said between 
 them upon the subject. 
 
 But every Sabbath after that it seemed to 
 Cyril, that, in chapel or Sunday school, he never 
 raised his eyes from his class or book, but he 
 met the troubled glance of John Seelye fixed 
 upon him. He met it at first carelessly, then 
 with wonder, and then with dread, and, at last, 
 learned to avoid meeting it ; a consciousness 
 of shame and un worthiness, every time that he 
 did so, coming like a cloud over the bright 
 atmosphere of worldly favor in which he had 
 wrapped himself. 
 
 A little incident that occurred about this 
 time served to increase the uneasiness he felt 
 in thinking of John Seelye. In one of the 
 teachers' meetings occurred the annual election 
 of officers for the school ; and Cyril was nomi- 
 nated for secretary and treasurer. Of course, 
 as it was an office of small responsibility, which
 
 PLEASURE WON, AND HONOR LOST. 145 
 
 any one of average intelligence and faithfulness 
 could hold, and as Cyril was so popular, there 
 was no expectation of any thing but a unani- 
 mous vote in his favor. There was a slight 
 sensation of surprise, then, when the superin- 
 tendent counted one adverse vote. No one 
 noticed it much, .however, except Cyril. In- 
 stinctively, he glanced across the room at John 
 Seelye. There was a shade of some sad feel- 
 ing softening his face ; but he met Cyril's gaze 
 quietly. Nevertheless, Cyril was sure that 
 John had cast that vote. 
 
 Cyril went home that night with a sorrow 
 in his heart almost as bitter as if the whole 
 world had distrusted and rejected him, instead 
 of one man. Perhaps it was because he had 
 such reason, in his real unworthiness, to dread 
 the first sign of distrust. 
 
 Shall we inquire what had actuated John ? 
 Suppose he had good reason to believe Cyril 
 careless of honesty about his every-day work ; 
 even then, could it be feared he would betray 
 the little trust they proposed to give him in the 
 school ? The thing would be impossible. 
 10
 
 146 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 There were bonds enough to secure him in this 
 case, of course. He would not risk losing his 
 
 O 
 
 character as a gentleman, and being held up to 
 the reprobation of the community, for any such 
 trivial temptation. 
 
 But John could not reason in that way. To 
 him, the man who did not live the truth in the 
 fear of God was never reliable ; no, not when 
 backed by the strongest securities, and by the 
 strongest motives of worldly wisdom. Such a 
 man he could not help place in any trust, how- 
 ever slight, especially a trust in the service of 
 God. And in John's little action I think there 
 was a good lesson in political management for 
 Tom Raddon to learn. If a man is unfaithful 
 to his own best interests, do not put those of 
 others into his hands in the blind hope that he 
 will deal with them more justly and wisely.
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 147 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 
 
 " The borrower is servant to the lender." 
 
 'OWARD the close of the winter, 
 one rainy Saturday afternoon, Tom 
 Raddon was walking up and down 
 r~ Cyril's room, suffering from " nothing 
 to do." That simply meant that he 
 did not want to work, and could think of no 
 pleasure that attracted him. He was in a very 
 discontented frame of mind, and was pouring 
 forth a long catalogue of complaints to patient 
 Cyril. He cursed the weather, he found fault 
 with his friends, he detailed his misfortunes, 
 the letter of warning sent home to his father, 
 his father's displeasure in consequence, his own 
 folly of heart and stupidity of head, his disap- 
 pointment in the make of his new suit, and his 
 vexation because his boots were too large,
 
 148 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 and expressed in general liis conviction that 
 there was nothing in life worth living for, and 
 that he would about as lief be a poor dog as a 
 man. Now, of all selfishness, the most wanton 
 is laying the burden of one's petty griefs and 
 vexations upon a friend in fretful complaint. 
 Cyril, at this dreary close of the week, was 
 enough depressed with troubles of his own ; 
 but he listened to Tom with great gentleness 
 and patience, sympathizing with him, or trying 
 to reason with him, or laugh away his vagaries. 
 If he ha*d not himself forgotten what can keep 
 a man always strong and joyful, he might have 
 given Tom something better than this kind 
 endurance of his fretfulness ; that is, a few 
 faithful words to have shown its cause and its 
 prevention. 
 
 From other troubles, Tom at last proceeded 
 to descant upon his pecuniary vexations. He 
 had lost money at play ; all the bills that had 
 been sent in to him had proved twice as large 
 as -he had expected, and there were some he 
 did not believe he had ever made, he had no 
 recollection whatever of having done so. His
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 149 
 
 father had utterly refused to increase again his 
 stipulated quarterly allowance, which, large as 
 it was, he had exceeded every quarter since he 
 had been in college, and this time more care- 
 lessly than ever. There was no hope of indu- 
 cing him to change his decision since that letter 
 had gone home. It had made him very angry. 
 Tom could not tell what to do : he had never 
 been so " hard up " in his life. 
 
 Now, when he came to this part of his 
 grumbling, Cyril dropped the pencil with which 
 he had been idly sketching upon the leaf of a 
 book, and instead of the weary look upon his 
 face came one of shame and distress. Borrow- 
 ing from Tom had been such an easy matter, 
 that it had been repeated till the amount which 
 Cyril owed him was considerable. Tom had 
 forgotten it, or he would not have complained 
 of his poverty in his friend's heading : there 
 was enough delicacy in him for that; but, 
 since he did complain, Cyril remembered the 
 debt, and was ashamed. 
 
 " I wish I could pay you the money you lent 
 me, Tom," he said at last. " I have not for-
 
 150 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 gotten it : but my father is like yours in think- 
 ing I spend too much already ; and, unlike 
 yours, he could not give me more if he would. 
 It is not his debt, either : it is mine. But I am 
 afraid you'll have to wait a good while before 
 I earn the money to pay it." 
 
 Tom stopped in his walk, and turned upon 
 Cyril, his face red with mortification and anger. 
 " You speak of that again if you dare I " he 
 said quite savagely. " The sooner you forget 
 it the better, as if it was of any account in 
 the world ! Why, there's fellows I do not 
 care a straw for borrowed and begged of me 
 more than you can guess, that never dream of 
 paying up. They just hang round to see how 
 much sport they can get me to pay for. They 
 never did any thing for me, as you have 1 done, 
 and as you can do again too." 
 
 Tom's selfishness would assert itself in the 
 midst of generous and friendly impulses. He 
 was thinking of something he had had in mind 
 all day, and had been only waiting an oppor- 
 tune moment to broach to Cyril. lie said 
 the last words mysteriously, and, stopping in
 
 TOM AND UIS TEACHER. 151 
 
 his walk, drew a chair to the table opposite 
 Cyril. 
 
 " What is it ? " said Cyril anxiously. 
 
 " Why, it's this," said Tom. " If you can 
 do for me what nobody else can, and what 
 would be worth to me two or three hundred 
 dollars, you'd stop fidgeting about that money, 
 wouldn't you ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Cyril. " What is it ? " 
 
 " Something I must do. It's the only way 
 to please father that I can think of; but, if I 
 should succeed, I should fairly revel in ' dosh ' 
 all next summer." 
 
 "Well, speak out," said Cyril impatiently: 
 " what are you thinking of ? " 
 
 " Of the prize-debates," said Tom. " I'm 
 going to go in and win one of the prizes. If 
 you'll help me, instead of owing me any thing, 
 I'll be bound to you for ever. If I should 
 succeed, it would be just the thing to make my 
 father think I was getting on at speech-making, 
 and it would set me up in his good graces for 
 a year. Will you show me how to win; 
 Rivers ? "
 
 152 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Cyril looked discouraged. " I can't," he 
 said : " the thing would be impossible, utterly 
 impossible." 
 
 " I don't see why," said Tom sulkily, " if 
 you were willing." 
 
 " Why, the best writers in the class are 
 going into these debates: how could I make 
 you able to compete with them ? And I tell 
 you it would be another thing for me to write 
 your debate for you than to write your compo- 
 sition, especially if it's to be a winning one." 
 
 " I don't see why," said Tom again. 
 
 " Because, for you to go and compete with 
 somebody else's debate would be altogether too 
 daring a thing. False goods won't bear .so 
 strong a light as that. Why, the very fact of 
 your joining in the debate at all, when you are 
 one of the poorest writers in the class, would 
 be surprising; and if you should bring an essay 
 that compared respectably with the rest, why, 
 these are not the days of miracles, and every- 
 body would know there was something wrong. 
 Besides, this is different from the compositions, 
 because it's a strife among the fellows, and it 
 would be mean not to go in fairly."
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 153 
 
 " Hang the fellows ! " growled Tom much 
 discomfited, but still holding to his plan with 
 a strong will. " But I tell you, Rivers, I didn't 
 want you to write the debate for me : I asked 
 you to show me how to do it myself. Suppose 
 I am stupid, and suppose I never did write any 
 thing decent in my life, is that any reason why 
 I can't try when I've a mind to ? I tell you " 
 looking at Cyril with a scowl of determina- 
 tion "I can do things when I - please. 
 I've found that out once or twice ; and I'd like 
 to try this time. There's a strong enough 
 motive, and I feel it in me that I'll carry my 
 point in some way." 
 
 In some way ! But could he possibly do it 
 in a fair way ? Cyril sighed as the doubtful 
 question passed through his mind. 
 
 " Well, of course, you've a right to try," he 
 said ; " and it will be a good thing for you. 
 But how can I help you ? " 
 
 " Why, you know best, I reckon," said Tom. 
 " Tell me how to set to work, in the first 
 place." 
 
 " Well, in the first place," said Cyril, " you
 
 154 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 want to read up on both sides of the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " And what shall I read ? " asked Tom. 
 
 Now, Cyril was going to compete for the 
 prize himself, and was, for many reasons, very 
 anxious to win. He had made out a list of 
 books for examination, which, to let Tom use, 
 would be a serious drawback to him, in pre- 
 venting him from obtaining the volumes when 
 he wanted them, to say nothing of the danger 
 that the material of their essays might be simi- 
 lar, and so the effect and freshness of each be 
 lessened. Yet, after a moment's hesitation, he 
 gave him his list, and explained to him just the 
 plan in using it he followed himself. He told 
 Tom how he must take notes of what he 
 thought most likely to serve his purpose ; how 
 he was to combine the force of arguments 
 found in different places ; how to select the 
 most impressive proofs, and to glean relevant 
 facts to help build up his theory. He told him 
 how he must let his mind work upon what it 
 had gathered, and bestow upon it fresh color 
 and form ; how to set the main points in due
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 155 
 
 order in a brief preparatory plan, and then how 
 to fill out the structure upon the frame-work. 
 When Tom grew bewildered and despairing on 
 account of the strangeness and difficulty of 
 the work thus described to him, Cyril would go 
 over the process again, stating it so that it 
 seemed less formidable to him. Cyril under- 
 stood the lesson and the scholar, and Tom 
 forced himself to attention : so that, at last, he 
 could say that he believed he saw his way 
 clear in beginning the undertaking. There 
 was nothing Cyril told him that books and 
 instructors had not many times tried to teach 
 him ; but he had never before had the will to 
 learn. 
 
 But Cyril's labor for Tom was only begun. 
 That very evening, he came to Cyril's room 
 again, bringing with him some of the books 
 recommended. There was a scowl upon his 
 face as he flung them upon the table. 
 
 " I've been up in my room with these," he 
 said, " ever since supper ; but I don't see any 
 use in them. I can't find any thing to the 
 point ; or, if there is, I'm too stupid to under-
 
 156 THE STORY OF CYKIL RIVER 8. 
 
 stand it. You'll have to help me, Rivers: 
 I must make headway somehow." 
 
 Cyril had on his overcoat, and was about to 
 go to the teachers' meeting. " I'm going out, 
 Tom," he said : " you'll have to wait till to- 
 ward nine o'clock, when I come back." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " groaned Tom : " I shall be 
 sleepy enough by that time, if I sit here over 
 these heavy books to wait for you. Can't you 
 stay ? " His selfishness was so habitual, he 
 was often surprisingly exacting and imperious 
 in his requests. 
 
 Cyril considered : it was stormy, and the 
 meeting would be small and uninteresting. 
 True, there would then be more need of his 
 presence and assistance ; but that thought did 
 not have much weight with him. And, in the 
 midst of his reflections, there carne to his 
 memory the glance of a pair of honest gray 
 eyes, that he did not like to meet, and from 
 the consciousness of which, to-night, in such a 
 small meeting, there would be less to distract 
 him. That half-recognized thought decided 
 him. He threw off his coat.
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 157 
 
 " I won't go," said he. "I'd rather stay 
 and read. You see I can do my work helping 
 you. I can kill two birds with one stone. I 
 thought I should have to wait for these books 
 till you got through with them ; but now 
 we'll read on together, and I shall get the gist 
 of the matter more surely myself by pointing 
 it out to you." 
 
 Tom was touched by his readiness to oblige, 
 and thanked him with a look of gratitude. 
 " Rivers," he said, as they drew their chairs to 
 the table, " what are you going to do when 
 you get through college ? " 
 
 " Why, I haven't made up my mind," said 
 Cyril. " If I should get an opportunity, I might 
 stay here as tutor, and some day work up to 
 be a learned professor." 
 
 Tom stared at him incredulously. " You 
 wouldn't ? " said he. 
 
 " Why, yes," said Cyril. " It's a kind of 
 life I used to think might be pleasant. But 
 perhaps I shall be a lawyer : I've thought 
 more of that lately, because, you see, it pays 
 better."
 
 158 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " Do," said Tom, apparently much relieved, 
 " and come down to San Francisco to open 
 your office. My father can help you to busi- 
 ness. He'll make a rich man of you before 
 you're thirty." 
 
 " And then," said Cyril, smiling, " I can 
 take you for a partner, and help you into Con- 
 gress, just as I'm going to help you win this 
 prize." 
 
 Tom shook his head. " You couldn't," said 
 he ruefully. " Every tub' 11 have to stand on 
 its own bottom after a while. A man can't be 
 helped always." 
 
 True enough, Tom ; truer than you per- 
 ceive. No one can long stand between you 
 and the results of your indolence. Cyril, from 
 motives partly selfish, partly amiable, helps you 
 now ; but you must stand for yourself at the 
 examination : you must answer for yourself to 
 your father when you go back without the 
 knowledge he sent you to obtain ; for yourself 
 to the world, which expects a return from your 
 manhood for all of pleasure and teaching it has 
 bestowed upon your youth ; for yourself to
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 159 
 
 your God, when he finds you, after shower and 
 sunshine, after many golden seasons of oppor- 
 tunity, still only a useless cumberer of the 
 ground. And you, Cyril, who have been so 
 trained in the consideration of truths like these, 4 - 
 that, even now, they troop dimly, like unnoticed 
 shadows, through your mind, why will you not 
 stop, and kindly point them out to your friend, 
 while he is for a moment pausing, and looking 
 with alarmed eyes into the future ? 
 
 Before they began to read, Cyril talked over 
 the subject a little, giving Tom such an idea 
 of it as he himself already possessed. When 
 they opened the books, Cyril was, nevertheless, 
 obliged often to point out how the reading was 
 connected with the subject, and threw light 
 upon it ; or he stopped frequently to bid Tom 
 take notes, or to ask his thoughts, or to express 
 his own. In this way, as Tom earnestly gave 
 his attention, his interest was soon aroused, and 
 his mind set at work. He began readily to 
 exchange his roughly expressed but fresh and 
 original ideas with Cyril's. It became evident 
 to the latter that Tom would voluntarily take
 
 1GO THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 the opposite side of the dehate from the one he 
 had chosen to advocate ; and that he thought 
 very fortunate. This interchange of ideas he 
 found was not unprofitable ; for, though Tom's 
 line of thought was narrower, and more likely 
 to be erring, than Cyril's, yet Cyril found his 
 mind quickened and enlightened by exploring 
 it. And Tom, in trying to argue with Cyril, 
 and in hearing him talk, began to be delighted 
 with the new wisdom he seemed himself to 
 have gained, and the profundity of thought he 
 had found in himself. It was as if a whole 
 new field of knowledge lay at his command, 
 which he was the more proud of, because part 
 of it, at least, was gained by his own discovery. 
 He went home almost as triumphant of heart 
 as though he already carried the prize in his 
 pocket. 
 
 Imagine Cyril's astonishment, when, three 
 days after this, Tom came in and announced 
 his essay as finished. 
 
 " So soon ! " said Cyril. " Why, I expect 
 to be over mine the whole of the next three 
 weeks."
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 161 
 
 " Very likely," said Tom. " But I can't do 
 that. It's ' strike while the iron is hot ' with 
 me. I know I've done it better than if I'd 
 bored over it longer. Here, I've brought it 
 for you to read. I'll venture to say there 
 won't be but one better, yours, of course. 
 There's some fire in this, I guess, that'll carry 
 the judges by storm. It's got \vhat / think in 
 it, spoken out pretty plain. I mean to send 
 it to my father : it ought to please him, if noth- 
 ing else will." 
 
 Cyril, not much re-assured by Tom's perfect 
 satisfaction with his work, sat down to read it. 
 It was written in Tom's most dashing hand, 
 and made quite a bulky manuscript. But, alas ! 
 its formidable appearance did not make up for 
 the failure of its contents. Its commencement 
 was abrupt and awkward, its statements pom- 
 pous and puerile and unsustained, its arguments 
 obscure, its illustrations absurd, its style of the 
 spread-eagle variety, deforming and concealing 
 whatever there really existed in the thought 
 that was true and forcible. Moreover, Tom 
 had omitted entirely many of the most impor- 
 11
 
 162 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 tant points of the discussion, and had com- 
 mitted the egregious blunder of mentioning 
 opposing arguments, without attempting "to 
 refute them. The essay had every possible 
 fault. Cyril read it, as much perplexed as 
 amused. He could not tell what to say as he 
 finished it, and looked up to meet Tom's confi- 
 dent gaze. 
 
 " Well," said Tom, " isn't that about the 
 thing ? " 
 
 Cyril hesitated, finding it hard to answer. 
 At last he said, " No, old fellow : you're not 
 out of the woods yet, by any means. You 
 mustn't be in such a hurry. You've got to go 
 over this three or four times before you will be 
 done." 
 
 " Why, what's the matter with it ? " asked 
 Tom, his face falling. 
 
 " Oh ! a good many things," said Cyril. 
 " But, before we go any farther, Tom, do let 
 me ask you what's the use of your doing this 
 any way ? I wish you'd give it up." 
 
 " Why, I told you what I was doing it for," 
 said Tom ; " and I will not give it up."
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 163 
 
 " But I don't believe it's necessary, Tom. I 
 can show you how to write such a letter to 
 your father as will bring you all the money you 
 want." 
 
 " I tell you you don't know any thing about 
 my father," answered Tom. " He isn't to be 
 moved by any ' bosh.' He's a hard man, and 
 used to dealing with facts. He always looks 
 out to get the worth of his money, seeing he 
 made it himself ; and, if I don't do something to 
 prove to him that it isn't money wasted to keep 
 me here, nothing else will satisfy him. So tell 
 me what I've got to do to this thing," taking 
 up the essay. " I've half a mind to speak it 
 exactly as it is." 
 
 " To tell the truth, Tom," said Cyril, " I 
 don't believe they'll let you go on to the stage 
 with it." 
 
 He persuaded Tom to sit down, and patiently 
 pointed out the most glaring errors, showed 
 him that he was not yet half acquainted with 
 his subject, and that his statement of what he 
 did know was disorderly and incomplete. For 
 two or three days more, they worked together
 
 164 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 over the essay, till Cyril, pressed by his own 
 occupations, and driven to despair by his 
 pupil's incompetency, did what he knew was 
 wrong. Cyril knew how the subject ought to 
 be handled ; but, finding he could not make Tom 
 conform to his ideas in any other way, he dic- 
 tated to him, word for word, a complete abstract 
 of what he thought the essay ought to be, 
 setting every point and argument and proof in 
 its order, omitting nothing. He persuaded 
 himself that this was no worse than any other 
 way of helping Tom ; that to write out for 
 him those few hints need not prevent him from 
 calling the work his own. Then he explained 
 to him how to work out every point, and ear- 
 nestly endeavored to persuade him to adopt a 
 simpler style than the bombastic one of the 
 stump-orator. 
 
 After all this, Tom, whose determination 
 never flagged through much hard work and 
 discouragement, and whose patience and docili- 
 ty had amazed Cyril, once more brought him 
 his finished essay. It was incomparably better 
 than the first ; but this time he presented it
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 165 
 
 with as much doubt as he had shown confidence 
 before. Cyril sighed to see how mucli more 
 work was still to be done. The essay showed 
 its beautiful framework still half covered. It 
 was like a house of noble plan, but all unfin- 
 ished, the clapboarding nailed on only in 
 places, the windows unglazed, the paint put on 
 in patches, and of different colors, and the 
 steps for approach still wanting. Alas ! it was 
 strange to see how much more faithful was 
 Cyril to his notion of perfection in the piece 
 than to truth and fairness in helping Tom 
 write it. 
 
 Once more, the two sat down together ; and 
 Cyril passed in review every word of the essay, 
 altering, and introducing whole sentences and 
 
 o * o 
 
 paragraphs, pruning out what was redundant, 
 simplifying what was overstrained, and correct- 
 ing what was false and ungrammatical. You 
 might think the essay itself would have testified 
 against them ; but Cyril proceeded very art- 
 fully. He purposely left some roughness and 
 abruptness, and whatever he could that was 
 characteristic of Tom : so that there was nothing
 
 1G6 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 in the composition but its general ability and 
 completeness to prove it a fraud. 
 
 Cyril sighed with relief when he at length 
 saw the work finished, yet he trembled at its 
 excellence. Tom felt no such satisfaction in it 
 as he had done in the first efforts he had made 
 all by himself, though he would still have 
 declared himself ready to affirm upon his honor 
 that the essay was his own. The reality of 
 its authorship, let them deceive themselves as 
 they might, was plainly enough proved to them 
 by the fact, that, while Tom found great diffi- 
 culty in committing his essay to memory, Cyril 
 already knew eveiy word of it by heart. 
 
 The fact, too, that, by this time, the very 
 subject of the debate had become unpleasant to 
 him might have told Cyril something. He 
 hated to commence writing upon his own essay. 
 In spite of his father's and classmates' expecta- 
 tions, and his own desire to win a prize, he 
 would have" withdrawn from the contest if a 
 secret dread had not suggested to him, that his 
 being a competitor would avert suspicion from 
 him in case Tom's debate was received with
 
 TOM AND HIS TEACHER. 167 
 
 doubt. Driven by this thought, he sat him- 
 self to work laboriously. Besides all he had 
 already thought upon the subject, he sought 
 new sources of information, and soon found 
 himself gaming new ideas and a deeper insight 
 into the matter. His interest and ambition 
 were roused again ; and, as his prospect of suc- 
 cess grew every day more certain, he forgot the 
 uneasiness that the work he had done for Tom 
 had left upon his mind. In vanity and self- 
 confidence he hardened himself against his 
 guilt, so that he soon became almost uncon- 
 scious that it was guilt.
 
 168 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 TOM'S SUCCESS. 
 
 " Excellent speech becometh not a fool ; much less do lying lips a 
 prince." 
 
 name upon the list of com- 
 petitors for the prize debates sur- 
 Professor M'Tafor. Tom had 
 shirked his compositions with such 
 boldness and persistency, that his un- 
 dertaking a voluntary labor of the kind, when 
 he was so unprepared for it, was truly astonish- 
 ing. His essay, when it was handed in with 
 the others for criticism, completed the good 
 man's amazement. At first, he was pleased; 
 and then, upon further consideration, a painful 
 suspicion took possession of him : so that, at last, 
 he summoned Tom to a conference. 
 
 Although Tom and Cyril had never allowed 
 to each other or themselves that they were
 
 TOM'S SUCCESS. 169 
 
 acting unfairly, yet that summons filled them 
 both with consternation. Tom, however, after 
 a few moments' hesitation, and trembling of 
 heart, professed himself ready to brave the 
 matter out. He had made up hie mind, he 
 said, that the thing should be carried through 
 successfully ; and it should not fail for want of 
 " brass " on his part. He had nothing to be 
 afraid of, and he had as lief meet Professor 
 M'Tafor as any other man. With that he but- 
 toned up his double-breasted coat, as a man 
 might buckle his armor, and made his appear- 
 ance before the professor, his rough face wear- 
 ing its boldest and most dogged scowl. 
 
 Mr. M'Tafor was a gentle, kind-hearted 
 man. The soul of honor himself, it was only 
 from sad experience with his charge, that he 
 had learned to suspect the prevalence of false- 
 hood among others. It was unpleasant to him 
 to express to Tom the doubt upon which he 
 had sent for him ; but he knew the best way 
 in hard tasks is to proceed to them directly, 
 even if it must be bluntly. 
 
 " Mr. Raddon," he said, " I have been sur-
 
 170 THE STORY OF CYRIL RISERS. 
 
 prised at the great difference between your 
 debate and every thing of the kind you have 
 before produced. It was so great, that I must 
 ask an explanation of it." 
 
 " Sir," said Tom, his countenance, as he 
 said it should be, like " brass," "it's very easily 
 explained. I care nothing about our weekly 
 compositions ; but, for the strongest possible 
 reason, I wanted to win one of those prizes. I 
 wrote with the determination to win one." 
 
 The professor studied Tom's hard face, much 
 perplexed. " But I have never seen in you, 
 Mr. Raddon, any proof whatever of the ability 
 to write such an essay as this, even with the 
 most urgent motives." 
 
 " Well, sir," answered Tom, doggedly hold- 
 ing his ground, " I never had the ability be- 
 fore : I worked up to it with harder work than 
 I ever had in all my life, just for this." 
 
 There was a short pause, during which the 
 professor seemed puzzled how to proceed. At 
 last he said, 
 
 " Mr. Raddon, it is my duty to speak plainly 
 with you. Notwithstanding what you have
 
 TOM'S SUCCESS. 171 
 
 said, I can scarcely believe this essay is your 
 own entirely unassisted work. But I have no 
 proof of this,- and can not, by my misgivings, 
 keep you out of the lists. But I ask you, by 
 your honor as a gentleman, if you know of any 
 reason why you can not with perfect fairness to 
 your companions, and with truth and credit 
 to yourself, bring this essay into competition, to 
 withdraw it now." 
 
 " I shall not withdraw it," said Tom : "it is 
 my own." There was a bad look upon his 
 face, a glance of the unscrupulous fierceness 
 with which his will trampled down some tender 
 impulses to good that moved in his heart. 
 The professor saw that look with uneasiness, 
 though he tried to suppose it only an expression 
 of the anger a man might naturally feel at 
 being unjustly suspected. At any rate, he felt 
 himself bound to believe so after Tom's answer. 
 He held out his hand, saying kindly, 
 
 " Then forgive my suspicions. I am, of 
 course, quite satisfied with that assurance. 
 Only let me hope you will not suffer the use of 
 such powers as you here display to cease with 
 the motive which led to their discovery."
 
 172 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Tom departed, bis face still scowling, hi8 
 manner of flinging out of the room still appar- 
 ently indicating outraged honesty* But there 
 was a feeling in his heart that dismayed him, a 
 terror about what he was doing, a sense of 
 misery and shame, that made him nearly des- 
 perate. He stalked up and down under the 
 elms, his bad resolution not in the least shaken, 
 but bis mind in a passion of discontent. He 
 was angry with Cyril as well as himself. He 
 asked why Cyril had given him undue help, or 
 why he was not as much shocked, if the thing 
 was so wrong, as the professor would have been 
 if he had known all. It was too late now : if 
 the thing was mean, Tom said, he could not 
 help it. He did not wish to defraud the other 
 fellows ; but, if any of 'em had worked harder 
 than he, let 'em prove it. He must have that 
 prize : he had not so set his mind upon any 
 thing in his whole college course. The rest 
 might take the other honors : he had never 
 asked for any but this. If there was any thing 
 wrong in the way he was competing, had he 
 not done enough for the class to be excused,
 
 TOM'S SUCCESS. 173 
 
 he who had bought the boat, and spent so 
 much money in other ways for class purposes ? 
 
 Thus he tried to reason away his remorse. 
 But all that day, and for many succeeding 
 ones, his manner was almost savage, and his 
 face fiercely scowling. His companions won- 
 dered to see him so very irritable. They 
 attributed his mood to the trouble he had spoken 
 of between himself and his father. There was 
 considerable amusement at the report that he 
 was to be one of the speakers ; but when one 
 of his familiar comrades jokingly congratulated 
 him upon his new ambition, Tom cut him short 
 so angrily, and was always so cross when the 
 debates were mentioned, that his friends hardly 
 dared speak of them in his presence. 
 
 "Well, the day for the speaking came at 
 last, and brought some unexpected results. 
 The judges were persons not in any way con- 
 nected with the college, and likely to be en- 
 tirely impartial. Cyril carried away the first 
 prize. His speech was conspicuously the best 
 in thought, expression, and deliver)'. The 
 second was won by a scholar with whom we
 
 174 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 are not acquainted ; and the third was divided 
 between Tom Raddon and John Seelye. 
 
 Those who knew these two had listened to 
 them with surprise. John had never been 
 very fortunate as a writer ; but, by much pains- 
 taking, he had this once, at least, contrived to 
 express some true and original thoughts in 
 plain, clear language, very forcibly. His un- 
 usual success, however, no one thought of con- 
 sidering as any thing but the result of honest, 
 industrious effort. His speech was heard with 
 no such wonder and incredulity as Tom's first 
 sentences began to excite among those ac- 
 quainted with his former attainments. 
 
 Tom was unnaturally excited, as those knew 
 who were most familiar with him, those who 
 had laughed slyly to see him run out to a 
 neighboring bar-room for a glass of brandy 
 just before his turn to speak. It was by fair 
 means or foul, by true fire or false, that he was 
 bound to compel success. When he stood upon 
 the platform, those physical advantages 114)011 
 which his ignorant father had calculated did 
 really tell in his favor. His tall and powerful
 
 TOM'S SUCCESS. 175 
 
 figure, liis large head, and heavy, strongly- 
 marked features, were impressive. The scowl 
 upon his forehead made him look terribly in 
 earnest. His cheeks burned, and there was 
 "fire in his dark eyes. Altogether, he appeared 
 like a man of force and ability ; and Cyril, 
 trembling with anxiety, was relieved, as he 
 looked at Tom, to see that the well-known 
 words of that essay would not appear incon- 
 gruously wise from his lips. He began to 
 speak well, a little too forcibly for Cyril's taste 
 perhaps ; but the fault might have served him 
 with many not so fastidious. Cyril's anxiety 
 . for him was so extreme, that his own lips ac- 
 tually moved in unison with Tom's throughout 
 the piece. It was fortunate for both, that the 
 wonder with which those near were listening to 
 the speaker prevented them from noticing this 
 little circumstance. 
 
 Whatever surprise and half-suspicion the 
 excellence of Tom's essay had at first excited 
 in some minds, it was so good, and he delivered 
 it "with such effect, that classmates as well as 
 strangers joined in the round of applause that
 
 176 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 greeted him when he finished. That applause, 
 the token of his success, was the first thing 
 that dispelled the remorse that had been vex- 
 ing Tom's soul these many days. He looked 
 about, the frown upon his forehead disappear- 
 ing in a triumphant smile ; and there was a 
 touch of his own old braggart, self-satisfied 
 manner in the bow of thanks he returned, as 
 he stalked off the stage, that afforded his 
 friends infinite amusement. 
 
 The judges, with one exception, agreed to 
 rank Tom third. But one of them had been 
 pleased with John Scelye's speech. He had 
 listened to it very attentively, and thought it 
 showed peculiar merit. He recalled it to the 
 minds of the others, and argued its claims so 
 well, that he secured the agreement of his asso- 
 ciates to let it share the third prize. 
 
 This arrangement was of little consequence 
 to Tom. The name of having taken a prize 
 was all he cared for. That he could now 
 send to San Francisco the college journal con- 
 taining an account of the debate, with the 
 complimentary notice of his essay, and the
 
 TOM'S SUCCESS. 177 
 
 announcement that he had ranked third among 
 
 O 
 
 twenty contestants, was enough to serve his 
 purpose. In his delight, he invited all the 
 debaters, together with his intimate friends, to 
 a supper in honor of his success, and was con- 
 gratulated by them all in apparent good faith. 
 Those who could not help holding suspicions 
 held them privately. No one wanted to make 
 an unpleasant disturbance. The general feeling 
 was, that Tom was a " good fellow," and had 
 always shown a great deal of class liberality ; 
 and, if he had a strong desire to carry his point 
 this once, there was no use in seeking to thwart 
 him. 
 
 Cyril, when he saw matters terminating 
 thus favorably, took heart again also. He 
 forgot all that he had suffered about the fraud, 
 forgot, almost, that he had committed it. His 
 own success was no light thing to him. He 
 was complimented upon it at every turn. His 
 father was pleased ; and he had his twenty- 
 dollars prize in his pocket. He forgot the 
 anxieties that had made him rather more indus- 
 trious of late, and gave way more carelessly 
 12
 
 178 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 than ever to vanity and pleasure-seeking. 
 Having made proof to his ambition of his 
 superior ability, he thought he could now rest 
 upon his oars a while ; that his honor would shine 
 bright enough without his care. 
 
 He went through the rest of the year half 
 working, and was not nearly as much cha- 
 grined, at its close, to discover his loss in stand- 
 ing as he had been the year before. He took 
 home, to satisfy his father, a philosophic coolness 
 about his failure, an assertion that he had been 
 learning more from life, if less from books, and 
 that to bury himself in his studies would be to 
 miss sympathy with his fellows, and knowledge 
 of human nature, and to grow selfish in a 
 narrow and mean ambition. To which his 
 father gravely answered, that to be diligent in 
 business hindered no man from being fervent 
 in spirit ; and that the student whose single aim 
 was to serve the Lord, serving himself and 
 others in the truest way, by consequence, 
 could neither be a poor scholar, nor a selfish, 
 narrow-minded man. 
 
 As for Tom, he was not disappointed in the
 
 TOM'S SUCCESS. 179 
 
 effect of his prize and the reading of his essay 
 upon his father. In all the course of his hard 
 life, the old man had met no greater gratification 
 than this promise of his son's future success. 
 He went about, the proudest man in San 
 Francisco. As if to make up for having 
 wronged Tom in his dissatisfaction, he sent 
 him a large sum of money, with the liberty to 
 draw for whatever more he needed. Like 
 Cyril, Tom, upon the strength of his success, 
 gave himself up to idleness and extravagance, 
 till the closing examination of the year drew 
 nigh. Then, finding there was great likeli- 
 hood of being dropped to the class below, he 
 fell to making desperate exertions. Day and 
 night, for three weeks, he and Baum, whose 
 delinquencies were like his own, shut them- 
 selves up together " to cram." With any 
 number of translations and keys, they found it 
 a difficult matter to do a year's work in less 
 than a month. They pasted together strips of 
 paper to the length of several feet, and copied 
 nearly a whole book of mathematical formulas 
 upon them. These strips were attached to
 
 180 THE STORY OF CYRIL RISERS. 
 
 little rollers, one at either end, which rolled up 
 to meet each other. As, fast, then, as by the 
 motion of the fingers, the paper was coiled over 
 one roller, it was drawn from the other; so 
 that the whole surface could in a few moments 
 be passed under review, hidden in one's hand. 
 By the help of this contrivance, and many other 
 ingenious and painstaking methods of cheating, 
 but much more by the help of what real study 
 they were able to accomplish, they contrived to 
 scramble through the examination ; and with 
 that they were abundantly satisfied.
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 181 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 
 " Open rebuke is better than secret love." 
 
 PASS on to the third winter of 
 Cyril's life at college. Of what was 
 unfortunate in his course, one thing 
 he would have been ready to con- 
 fess, he was not growing happier. 
 The failures in scholarship, that he professed to 
 look upon with such indifference, were secretly 
 galling to him, and took away from his self- 
 respect. He still ran eagerly after social pleas- 
 ures ; but they never now proved so delightful 
 as formerly. He was developing slightly the 
 saddest of all symptoms in a young man, 
 professed disgust with what life offers. He 
 cheapened its best gifts to his mind, because he 
 did not want to make the effort to win them ; 
 and low and easy pleasures were palling upon
 
 182 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 his taste. His friendships were often a vexa- 
 tion to him, because lie had not founded them 
 upon truth. Of himself he was fast losing 
 expectation. He was beginning to persuade 
 himself that no man was good, unselfish, or 
 honest, no pleasure satisfactory, no hope worth 
 aiming for. This perverse and infidel reason- 
 ing always ensues in minds, that, with a 
 naturally quick perception of the right, yield to 
 sin. They must blind and harden themselves 
 to escape torture from violated instincts. But 
 such a false view of life and manhood is dead- 
 ly : it is the paralytic stroke which the Devil 
 deals to kill energy and fervor of spirit, and to 
 put an end to the last feeble struggles of the 
 soul after its true nobility. True, there is an 
 existence which merits such a contemptuous 
 estimate : it is that which is alienated from the 
 life of God. Well may those who have sepa-' 
 rated from him deem that there is no joy or 
 fullness or profit in their lives, and call them 
 mean and worthless. But let them not offend 
 God by saying that the gifts of the being he 
 gave "them were such. It is they who with
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 183 
 
 their own hands have plucked out its priceless 
 jewels, and thrown them away, the jewels of 
 possible wisdom and joy and holiness and 
 immortality, drawn from the treasures of Him 
 who filleth all in all. 
 
 But, beside his secret dissatisfaction with 
 himself, Cyril had other causes of sorrow, which 
 it was less in his power to remove. A cloud 
 hung over his home, arising from the growing 
 feebleness of Mr. Rivers's health, at a time 
 when the wants of his family and congregation 
 were making greater demands than ever before 
 upon his exertions. Cyril, in the last weeks 
 of his vacation, could not help noticing how his 
 father's figure stooped from weakness, how 
 often he sighed over his work, and how easily 
 he grew tired. He could not help seeing the 
 extreme anxiety of his mother and older sisters 
 about his father's health, and hearing their 
 perplexed consultations as to how to relieve 
 him of the burdens that his shoulders seemed 
 the only ones to bear. Cyril had once pro- 
 posed leaving college as the best means for sav- 
 ing expense : but they told him that was not to
 
 184 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 be thought of; that his father could bear any 
 thing better than such a disappointment. So 
 he had come back to college, anxious at heart 
 whenever he thought of home troubles. But, 
 to some extent, he forgot them as the weeks 
 separated him from what he had seen of them, 
 and the cheerful letters he received defended 
 him from the knowledge of their continuance, 
 and as he became more and more absorbed in 
 himself, and his present circumstances and oc- 
 cupations. 
 
 Who projected the grand promenade concert 
 in aid of the Orphan Asylum, with anticipa- 
 tions of which the town was now full ? No 
 doubt the scheme was got up between the fer- 
 tile wits of little Miss Kerlie whose benevo- 
 lent concern for mission schools and orphans 
 was always uniting itself with her passion for 
 social excitement and those of her old bache- 
 lor confrere, Mr. llollin Childs, that invaluable 
 man in society, of liberal fortune and infinite 
 good nature, whose whole occupation and end 
 in life seemed to be to help with his means and 
 Jiis energies the sports of the young ladies.
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 185 
 
 They laughed at him for the frivolity they en- 
 couraged, not reflecting that it was no more 
 unbecoming though, let us hope, more unusu- 
 al- in a man of middle life than in women, 
 who, if some of them were his juniors, were at 
 least of adult intelligence and powers, and as 
 capable of an earnest purpose in living as he. 
 
 Well, the Orphan Asylum was in want of 
 funds, and Miss Kerlie and Mr. Childs were in 
 want of pleasing occupation. Therefore, it 
 was one morning reported in the daily paper 
 of Eaton, that " some enterprising and wealthy 
 young gentlemen of our city had a plan on 
 foot for relieving one of our most deserving 
 and popular charities, the Orphan Asylum. 
 The scheme proposed was one likely to be emi- 
 nently successful, if carried out as the names of 
 those who had it in charge guaranteed that it 
 would be carried out, and must be gratifying in 
 itself, aside from its praiseworthy object, to all 
 lovers of good taste and the most refined social 
 pleasures." Then followed an Account of what 
 had been planned. The concert was to be 
 made a most select and elegant affair; the
 
 186 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 tickets were to sell at five dollars each, and the 
 entire expenses to be defrayed, if possible, by 
 subsci'iption : so that the profits might be clear. 
 A second meeting of those interested had been 
 appointed ; and all who were willing to co-oper- 
 ate were earnestly desired to attend. 
 
 Cyril, turning over the paper in the college 
 reading-room, saw this promising notice, but 
 paid little attention to it. But he afterward 
 became more interested, when he discovered 
 with what enthusiasm Miss Kerlie and the 
 large circle of her friends had entered into the 
 plan. They could talk of nothing else. The 
 concert, as they declared, was to be the most 
 elegant, delightful, and brilliant affair the city 
 had ever known, and to be an immense help to 
 the asylum. Moreover, Cyril was not left to 
 suppose that it was a town affair, and he had 
 nothing to do with it. It was exceedingly im- 
 portant that the students should be induced to 
 co-operate. Their attendance at the concert 
 would be indispensable, and their help was 
 much desired in preparing for it. Cyril, if he 
 would, could do a great deal to help enlist them
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 187 
 
 in the cause. He must invite them to attend 
 the next meeting of the Aid Association, 
 and go himself. 
 
 Cyril felt little inclination to accept these 
 hints. He felt thatfhe should be quite out of 
 place at such a meeting, having nothing to 
 subscribe ; and he dreaded that some entangle- 
 ment might result. But when he reported what 
 he had heard to Benson and Sine and others, 
 who, not having as slender a purse as his own, 
 eagerly hailed the prospect of a new pleasure, 
 their interest awakened his. They were ready 
 enough to attend the meeting, and see how the 
 preparations were progressing ; and Cyril agreed 
 to accompany them. 
 
 The projectors of the plan were very glad to 
 receive them, and to press into the service their 
 energy and ingenuity. Therefore, when the 
 various officers and committees of the new 
 Aid Association had been appointed, while 
 the wealthy and solid men of the city had their 
 names, with or without their consent, placed in 
 a long list as vice-presidents, and members of 
 the finance committee, to insure the monetary
 
 188 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 success of the affair, Cyril Rivers and several 
 more of his college friends were put down as 
 decorative committee and floor-managers, to 
 guarantee its success as a brilliant entertain- 
 ment. Mr. Rollin Childs*had not studied the 
 management of social gayeties so long for 
 nothing: he had managed it very skillfully. 
 
 Cyril was at first vexed and uneasy at the 
 position into which he found himself thrust. 
 But there were some considerations that 
 finally reconciled him to the responsibility. 
 He should, of course, wish to attend the concert ; 
 and if he made himself really efficient in getting 
 it up, as very few named for the committees 
 would do, no doubt his services would excuse 
 the pui'chase of a ticket : then he saw a prospect 
 of some exciting pleasure in the work. No 
 expense was to be spared to render the hall 
 elegant, and Cyril might have full scope to 
 exercise his ingenious and cultivated taste ; 
 and then he reflected, with complacency, that, 
 with his handsome person and pleasing man- 
 ners, he was just the one to win glory on such 
 an occasion in the conspicuous place of a
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 189 
 
 floor-manager. Are you astonished that he 
 should he influenced by such a childish thought ? 
 But vanity is so debasing : it is a long and silly 
 madness, if anger is a short and fierce one. 
 Let it overcome a man, and he will not 
 remember any more the pure and high am- 
 bition he cherished before. Cyril could sacri- 
 fice higher interests to these petty triumphs, 
 and forgot the scorn with which he would 
 have condemned in another the reputation he 
 was himself seeking. 
 
 Once having engaged himself in forwarding 
 the concert, Cyril gave himself up to the work 
 with eager interest. He was made chairman 
 of the decorative committee, and took the 
 management of its duties all into his own hands. 
 The design, execution, and oversight were his ; 
 and, the farther he progressed in his work, the 
 more enthusiastic he grew. His plans were 
 extensive and extravagant ; but, as fast as they 
 became evident, they were applauded for their 
 elegance and originality. He enlisted all the 
 help he was able, and got together meetings of 
 his classmates, and of all the young people of
 
 190 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 the city, to tie evergreens in the ball. He was 
 the inspiration of all tbe gayety that went on 
 there, as well as commander-in-chief of tbe 
 activity ; and be enjoyed tbe position. When 
 the remembrance of duties and home anxieties 
 vexed him, he pushed them off tiH after the 
 concert. That was the one interest that ex- 
 cluded others from his mind at present. He 
 was no worse in this than many others. In 
 fact, a sort of madness about this grand con- 
 cert, sanctified by its benevolent purpose, 
 seemed to seize upon all the town's people. A 
 great amount of money was contributed 
 toward defraying tbe expenses ; though why 
 they need be so large, to make tbe affair 
 brilliant, since the guests were coming for 
 charity, and not self-gratification, it might have 
 Ijeen puzzling to tell. 
 
 But, as Cyril saw the preparations progress, 
 be began to be troubled with one misgiving, 
 how was he to play his part in such an elegant 
 affair, with any credit to himself or the occasion, 
 in the plain and worn suit which was tbe best 
 he possessed? He knew the glory of raiment
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 191 
 
 in which most of his companions, who could 
 afford to purchase the five-dollar tickets, would 
 appear; and that many of them would have 
 staid at home often, rather than be seen in 
 such a suit as he had worn on occasions like 
 this. And Cyril was growing ' exceedingly 
 sensitive about his dress. He concluded, at 
 last, that he had no right to be going where he 
 could not furnish an attire suited to the grandeur 
 of the occasion, and that he could not possibly 
 act in the conspicuous position assigned him 
 without a new evening suit. What then ? 
 Why, when Cyril had finished his decorating 
 to his satisfaction, he could quietly withdraw 
 from further labors, and delegate his duties for 
 the evening to somebody else. 
 
 But Cyril could not resign himself to make 
 the sacrifice. He argued that it would be 
 impossible for him to do it ; that his friends 
 would leave him no peace, should he attempt to 
 withdraw. Not another one of the managers 
 had so extensive an acquaintance as he, or 
 such a gift at creating, by his very presence, 
 here and there, such a spirit of life and enjoy-
 
 192 TUE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 ment throughout a room. His friends among 
 his classmates counted it among their best 
 chances for a pleasant evening, that he would 
 be there. He already held quite a list of 
 requests for introductions to this young lady or 
 that, to whom no one could so favorably pre- 
 sent his friends as he. Especially there was 
 Tom. He shrank from ladies' society general- 
 ly, but felt emboldened to present himself 
 among them when the scene was only a public 
 hall. The ceiling of a lady's drawing-room, 
 though ever so lofty, was always oppressive to 
 him, and the furniture was all stumbling-blocks ; 
 but he fancied he should move about the Music 
 Hall more at his ease. And Tom, to the in- 
 finite amusement of his friends, had fixed an 
 eye of admiration upon the daughter of one of 
 the professors, a delicate and dainty maiden, 
 upon whom the young man gazed in chapel, 
 Sundays, to while away the tedious hours. A 
 perfect pink she was for propriety, yet having, 
 for all her demure elegance, some merry and 
 mischievous spice in her disposition, that may 
 have led her, when she perceived the steady
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 193 
 
 stare of Tom's sober, scowling face in church, 
 to cast at him just one or two bright glances 
 that had bewitched him. At any rate, he 
 stoutly averred that she had smiled at him, 
 though all the fellows laughed incredulously at 
 the story ; and so he had made Cyril promise him 
 an introduction, and was getting himself up, 
 " regardless," as his friends said, for the 
 occasion. If he should learn that Cyril was 
 going to fail him, what would be his wrath and 
 disappointment ! He would be content with 
 nothing but the true reason ; and that Cyril did 
 not want to give. If he did give it, Tom 
 would offer to lend him money, and be angry 
 if he did not take it. No, Cyril was sure he 
 must go to the concert : he had proceeded too 
 far to withdraw himself. But, the more he 
 tried to be reconciled to the thought of going 
 in his old clothes, the more impossible it 
 seemed. So tlwre he was, irresolute upon the 
 three horns of his little dilemma : he could not 
 have new clothes, he could not go in his old 
 ones, and he could not stay away. Do not 
 smile at his weakness in hesitating about so 
 
 13
 
 194 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 small a matter ; for little temptations so often 
 lead to great misfortunes and great sins. 
 Recollect, it is not merely against flesh and 
 blood that we fight, but against principalities 
 and powers, against the rulers of the darkness 
 of this world, against spiritual wickedness in 
 high places ; and do not fancy the armor of 
 God the breastplate of righteousness, the 
 shield of faith, the sword of the Spirit too 
 cumbrous armor for such small occasions even 
 as this : it was meant for just such, to be worn 
 daily and hourly, and never put aside. With- 
 out it, Cyril was not safe. 
 
 When Cyril's mother, had been looking over 
 his wardrobe before he returned to college, she 
 had said to him that she wished he might have 
 a new suit : she knew well enough that he 
 would often be tempted to wish for one him- 
 self. His father, who was sitting in the room 
 apparently occupied with a book, heard the 
 remark, though it had been made in a low tone 
 not to reach his ear. " Well, mother," he 
 said cheerfully, " we must certainly let Cyril 
 have a new coat for the junior exhibition. I
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 195 
 
 recollect having my first broadcloth suit to 
 wear on that day ; and I kept it for state occa- 
 sions for a long time afterward. We must 
 contrive to get Cyril one then. It's becoming 
 that a young man should be suitably dressed 
 when he makes his first appearance in public." 
 
 These words now occurred to Cyril's mind, 
 " His first appearance in public ! " He could 
 hardly help smiling at his father's innocence. 
 His appearance upon the junior exhibition 
 stage would be nothing for publicity compared 
 with his appearance upon the floor of the 
 Music Hall the night of the grand concert, or 
 even compared with the part he had played in 
 many a crowded drawing-room in the city 
 before this. But, if he was to have a suit, why 
 not have it now ? There would be no need of 
 paying for it till spring, if that was more con- 
 venient for his father ; yet Cyril could still have 
 it all winter, when he wanted it most. Should 
 he write home, and tell his father of all these 
 considerations ? 
 
 Ah ! Cyril could not do that : he dared not, 
 when he thought of his father's pale face, and
 
 196 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Lent shoulders, and fast whitening hair. He 
 knew the wrinkles of anxiety that would come 
 upon the kind forehead, and the involuntary 
 sigh the good man would send forth as he puz- 
 zled himself to excuse and gratify his son, turn- 
 ing over his resources in his mind, and, very 
 likely, planning new work to supply the new 
 wants ; beginning his task of writing earlier in 
 the morning, or continuing it later at night, to 
 make time to produce something for publica- 
 tion ; or a little lecture to deliver in some 
 neighboring town to eke out his income, and 
 make it cover this new expense. Cyril knew 
 with what forebodings in her heart hfs mother 
 would watch these doings, and remonstrate 
 against them ; and how his sisters would hold 
 anxious consultations together again, looking 
 around for the one forlorn resource for minis- 
 ters' daughters, a school-teacher's place, in a 
 country already overstocked with school- 
 teachers. Ah, no ! Cyril could not send home 
 his wish : the wonder is, that, with such a 
 remembrance, he could have cherished it at 
 all. But all these thoughts were of interests
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 197 
 
 absent, and distressed him only occasionally : 
 they did not press upon him with the urgency 
 of the ideas and examples that were at present 
 surrounding him. 
 
 As the eventful evening drew near, he grew 
 more and more excited about his part of the 
 play. He became careless of restraints ; it was 
 as though he lived in a world where it was right 
 for him to have what he pleased, to do as others 
 did, without regard to the tyranny of circum- 
 stances. He said to himself, that he must have 
 that suit at all events. It could be paid for in 
 the spring: his father would most probably 
 send the money then ; and it was not worth 
 while to trouble him about it at all at present. 
 If Cyril should foresee any likelihood of his 
 failing to send it, then, no doubt, he could con- 
 trive to pay it in some way himself. He 
 might get classes to teach in some of the semi- 
 naries in town during his leisure hours. Once 
 let this concert go by, so that he had again the 
 use of his time and talents, and he could right 
 his position quickly enough in some way. 
 Surely, one with friends and ability like his need
 
 198 THE -STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 not be afraid to indulge in a little necessary 
 expense like this. Whatever might happen, 
 there was Tom Raddon, with his generous 
 purse, that was sure to be at his friend's ser- 
 vice, in case every thing else should fail. 
 
 It was Tom to whom Cyril said, one morning, 
 as they sauntered to the post-office after recita- 
 tion, 
 
 " Raddon, I've got to get a new suit for that 
 concert." 
 
 " You ! " said Tom, apparently surprised. 
 " Well, of course. I never thought of it 
 though, because, somehow, you always look 
 slick and bright enough at a party in your 
 every-day clothes. Expect you're kind o' 
 made for it ; but we clumsy fellows have to be 
 rigged up, like those stiff side-lights in the hall 
 you had to tie up in evergreens to make 'em 
 look festive." 
 
 "Well," said Cyril, "made for it or not, I 
 can't be floor-manager in this old, rusty suit. 
 So come in and introduce me to your tailor, to 
 make him give me credit enough to trust me. 
 I can't pay him right away."
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 199 
 
 " He'll be the better pleased, I reckon," 
 growled Tom. " He'd never have the face to 
 ask in cash for what he has the impudence to 
 set down in the bill." 
 
 That was not encouraging to Cyril ; but he 
 said nothing. The two went into the tailoring 
 establishment ; and Cyril, having resolved to 
 act without regard to right, was the more 
 likely to be regardless of prudence, also. He 
 turned over cloths, and inquired prices, as if he 
 had been used to the frequent ordering of 
 costly suits, and ended with choosing such 
 material, and giving such directions, as would 
 secure him such a suit as he fancied, without 
 much consideration of the probable cost. The 
 day of reckoning was some distance off: there 
 would be plenty of time to think of it before it 
 arrived. 
 
 Nevertheless, he did quake a little with 
 dread when the elegant new suit came home ; 
 and he felt a sense of just shame, as though 
 every one must know he had no right to wear 
 it. The feeling was soon lost, however, in the 
 excitement of the evening, and in gratified
 
 200 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 vanity, as lie received the compliments and con- 
 gratulations of his friends upon his improved 
 appearance. 
 
 That night was, as had been promised, one 
 Ions to be remembered in the annals of Eaton. 
 
 o 
 
 The hall, when the finishing touches had been 
 put to the decorations, and the gas was all 
 lighted, exceeded in beautiful appearance all 
 that Cyril had expected. Along the sides, 
 flags and evergreens were wreathed above and 
 below the finest paintings the private resi- 
 dences of the city could furnish for the occa- 
 sion. Festoons were arched overhead ; and 
 from the center of the ceiling depended a mag- 
 nificent basket of flowers, whose elegant pat- 
 tern Cyril had himself designed. 
 
 The room began to be filled early ; and the 
 company was quite as large and brilliant as had 
 been imagined. The ladies wore their gayest 
 and most elegant dresses, and the gentlemen 
 were not behind them in preparations for the 
 festivity. The music had been brought from 
 the neighboring metropolis, and was the best 
 and most inspiriting. Its sweet strains, com-
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 201 
 
 bined with the perfume of flowers, the bright 
 light, and the animated throng of people, pro- 
 duced an effect that was upon many a young 
 mind a sort of intoxication. 
 
 Cyril, whose name, connected with the ad- 
 miration the decorations excited, was in every 
 one's mouth, and whose appearance and man- 
 ners entitled him to be called the most brilliant 
 and noticeable young man in the room, heard 
 snatches of complimentary talk about himself 
 wherever he went. He did not show the 
 elation he felt as he realized his position, ex- 
 cept by the sparkle in his eye, and the bright- 
 ness of his smile. He was busy enough in his 
 share of the management, insuring the smooth 
 and happy procedure of the programme. It 
 was not his fault, that night, that any one to 
 whom his graceful kindness could be made 
 available did not enjoy the evening. 
 
 Nor did any thing occur to damp his own 
 complacency till toward the close of the fes- 
 tivity. The crowd was fast thinning by the 
 departure of the older and more sober portion 
 of it, and Cyril had cast aside the cares of his
 
 202 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 office to join in the dancing. He was in the 
 highest state of pleasurable excitement. He 
 stood hy his partner, waiting for the music of 
 the quadrille to begin. Just then passed slowly 
 by Tom Raddon, with the young lady upon 
 his arm to whom Cyril had given the promised 
 introduction, much fearing, nevertheless, that 
 she would scorn the uncouth, over-dressed 
 fellow. There was no doubt, however, that 
 she had been kind and polite to him ; for Tom 
 had followed her all the evening, claiming her 
 every disengaged moment with a persistency 
 in which a more accomplished gentleman would 
 not have dared to indulge himself. And now, 
 perhaps, as the easiest way of keeping up a 
 conversation that would interest him, she had 
 led Torn to talk about his everyday pursuits, his 
 ways of managing life and study, his ordinary 
 hopes and vexations. And in the progress 
 of such stories he had informed her that to- 
 morrow was the debating-day, and he was in 
 no way prepared for it. And as they passed 
 by Cyril she put this question, 
 
 " What will you do, then, when you are 
 called up ? "
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 203 
 
 " Oh ! I shall be ready by that time," an- 
 swered Tom rather boastfully. " You see, we 
 fellows are so lucky as to have a good friend 
 who knows about every thing, and was just 
 born to string off words with a pen, so that 
 they come to the right thing. He writes off 
 something or other for each of us ; and we 
 study it at prayers, or on the way to breakfast : 
 so, when the professor calls us up, we are pret- 
 ty sure to have something to say." 
 
 Cyril's eyes turned in anxiety and wrath 
 upon Tom, who did not perceive him. " The 
 fool!" muttered Cyril to himself: "why 
 couldn't he have better sense ? " 
 
 The young lady was evidently interested, if 
 not amused. Her lip had curled a little, con- 
 temptuously, and there was a sparkle either of 
 fun or indignation in her eye, Cyril could 
 not have told which. 
 
 " Your friend is certainly very obliging," 
 she said. 
 
 " Oh!" said honest Tom, " he don't do it for 
 nothing. We wouldn't ask it of him : it's 
 considerable work, you see. We pay him a 
 dollar apiece for a composition."
 
 204 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " A dollar apiece ! " said the young lady 
 slowly ; and Cyril could not mistake now the 
 exceeding contempt in her voice and manner. 
 " Is that the market-price for lies in Eaton 
 University? Little enough, to be sure ! " 
 
 Tom looked at her utterly confounded : the 
 light had broken upon him too suddenly. She 
 had spoken hastily upon an indignant impulse, 
 as she often did upon a merry one, and, recov- 
 ering herself, she said, half ashamed, " I beg 
 your pardon ! " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Tom, dismayed 
 at the consciousness of being under her rebuke. 
 
 She hesitated a minute between courtesy 
 and the honest severity of her thought. " I 
 mean," she said at last, her voice trembling 
 with earnestness, " that I do not see how you 
 c:in do such a thing as you have told me about. 
 And I should think a man who could take pay 
 for doing you such a service must be the mean- 
 est that ever lived. It is making and selling 
 lies." 
 
 Tom turned scarlet with mortification at her 
 rebuke, for Cyril's sake as well as his own.
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 205 
 
 Yet, in the midst of his confusion, Cjril heard 
 him say with dogged faithfulness, " He is my 
 friend," and for that forgave him the impru- 
 dence that had brought them the condem- 
 nation. 
 
 They passed by, and what they said more, or 
 how they made peace with each other, Cyril 
 could not tell. But for him the pleasure of the 
 evening was gone. His head drooped, his fig- 
 ure lost its uprightness, under the burden of 
 shame that seemed openly laid upon his shoul- 
 ders. He hardly knew how he got through 
 that dance, and answered his partner's chatting. 
 He longed to be at liberty to hide himself in 
 his room ; but he was forced to keep his place- 
 till the most indefatigable of the dancers had 
 tired themselves out, and the gray light of 
 morning was at hand. People told him he 
 looked tired ; and tired and wretched enoiigh 
 he was. The staring reflection of himself that 
 he met at every turn, from the many mir- 
 rors he had ordered placed around the room, 
 was torturing to him in his consciousness of 
 shame.
 
 206 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Returning at last to his room, lie came upon 
 Tom, pacing up and down the sidewalk before 
 the door. Cyril opened it, and they went up 
 together without a word. When he had light- 
 ed the lamp, he saw that Tom was very much 
 excited ; and Tom, perceiving, also, how tired 
 and distressed Cyril looked, and having but one 
 thought in his head at present, guessed the 
 reason. 
 
 " Did you hear what she said ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," answered Cyril. 
 
 " I say it was true, Rivers ! " said Tom ex- 
 citedly. " I'd like to kill myself to think how 
 I showed myself without shame in telling that 
 story ! " 
 
 Cyril tried to bethink himself how he might 
 quiet these self-reproaches, and send Tom away ; 
 for he wanted to be alone. 
 
 " Yes, what she said was true, Tom," he 
 said ; " and I am the one to be most ashamed. 
 But it was not quite so bad as it looked to her. 
 She did not know the circumstances, and she 
 spoke too sharply, being hardly more than a 
 stranger to you."
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 207 
 
 " I don't know," said Tom, " whether she 
 spoke too sharply or not. I only know I took 
 it kind of her. I wish yon had spoken sharply : 
 I shouldn't feel so mean, perhaps, as I do 
 to-night." 
 
 Cyril was shaken by that blunt rebuke. He 
 could make no answer. 
 
 " Why didn't you ? " continued Tom, in his 
 anger. " You pretend to know about these 
 tilings ; but I never was taught. I hardly know 
 a lie is a lie when it concerns my getting what 
 I want. But you might: why did you let 
 anybody buy you into doing these things ? " 
 
 Why, indeed ? Cyril was utterly cowed by 
 the question : he had not a word to say in 
 self-defense. He sat looking into the fire 
 with such a pale, harassed countenance, that 
 Tom, in the midst of his wrath, noticed it, 
 and was softened. 
 
 f Forgive me, old fellow S " he cried. " I 
 had no business to blame you. You only 
 meant to oblige us, and we all begged you to 
 do it." 
 
 Cyril turned, and took some papers from the
 
 208 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 table. Selecting one, he put it in Tom's liand. 
 " It's the debate I wrote for you for to-morrow," 
 lie said. 
 
 With an angry jerk, Tom threw it into the 
 fire; and that appeared to relieve him more 
 than all his scolding. 
 
 " There 1 " he said, the fierce scowl upon his 
 face softening, as he watched the paper curl up 
 in the blaze, " that does me good ! I shall be 
 no liar to-morrow, if I do flunk. I believe I 
 can go home and go to sleep upon that : it's 
 time, I guess. Give me your hand, and say 
 good-night, Rivers. If I said any thing unkind, 
 forgive me before I go." 
 
 He went away, and left Cyril still sitting by 
 the fire. He was utterly exhausted ; but he 
 would not try to rest. His mind was dazed by 
 all the events of the evening, the exciting 
 scenes with which it had begun ; the sharp, 
 true words that had cut short its pleasure ; 
 Tom's reproaches; and the jealous surprise 
 with which he discovered that one whom he 
 had judged it impossible to lead from selfish 
 wrong-doing had awakened, at a few words
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 209 
 
 from a stranger, to a deeper sense of shame 
 and repentance than Cyril himself could feel. 
 His mind ran back and forth over these things, 
 and then to his new clothes, unpaid for, and 
 then to his home, and sick father. He was 
 too much exhausted to view any of the circum- 
 stances of his situation clearly ; but they 
 appeared to him such, that he was filled with 
 unutterable depression, shame, and grief. 
 . He sat in his chair, absorbed in anxious and 
 uneasy thoughts, till the morning twilight 
 brightened, and the college rising-bell roused 
 him to the fact that another day had begun. 
 He rose and changed his dress, and bathed his 
 face and hands. The half-dozen debates he 
 had finished, with Tom's, for some of his class- 
 mates, were lying upon the table. What 
 should he do with them ? Follow Tom's ex- 
 ample, and throw them into the fire ? He 
 took them up and hesitated. They had been 
 promised, and their loss would cause disappoint- 
 ment. The fellows depended upon them: it 
 would not be fair to break his promise about 
 them. But he would never do a thing of the 
 
 14
 
 210 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 kind again : he had received sufficient warning, 
 surely, of the insecurity of such conduct. That 
 story might easily now come to the professors' 
 ears, and Cyril could see how it would appear 
 to any one whose moral sense was not blunted 
 by the constant contact with such dishonest 
 dealings. Oh, no ! he could not do the thing 
 again. 
 
 He sat down to look over some lesson, 
 trying to restore himself to his usual frame of 
 mind. The beginning of the day's routine, 
 and soon the society of those over whose 
 thoughts and feelings hud come no change since 
 yesterday, helped him. By ten o'clock, when 
 he went into the debating-class, all the ex- 
 periences of the past night seemed hardly more 
 than a dream, the shadow of a cloud that 
 had come and gone in an hour. He could 
 hear Benson speaking his false essay, with only 
 a momentary twinge of fear and shame. And 
 the morning sunshine had almost the same 
 effect upon Tom. He half repented burning 
 the essay Cyril had prepared for him, and 
 timused the fellows about him by telling the
 
 THE PROMENADE CONCERT. 
 
 211 
 
 story, and pretending to growl over his folly. 
 Yet, after all, lie was more glad than sorry. 
 There remained enough of bitterness about the 
 thought of this deception to keep both himself 
 and Cyril from practicing it again.
 
 212 TUE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 
 
 1 Thorns and snares are in the way of the froward." 
 
 FEW days of quiet, that followed 
 the promenade concert, restored 
 Cyril to some measure of wisdom. 
 He saw that it behooved him to be 
 in earnest in finding means to pay 
 the debt he had incurred ; and he actually set 
 on foot inquiries, through his tutors and other 
 friends, for a place where his services as teacher 
 during some hours of the day might earn him 
 some income. But he met with no immediate 
 success in his efforts ; and as they had been 
 made reluctantly, through necessity, he did not 
 follow them up very persistently. His atten- 
 tion was soon distracted by some new gayety 
 like that through which he had just passed.
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 213 
 
 Elated again by pleasure and vanity, again he 
 lost sight of his responsibilities ; and so up and 
 down, from the top of one wave of excite- 
 ment, through intervals . of uncomfortable 
 anxiety, to another, he drifted through the 
 winter, till, with a heart that had no welcome 
 for the approaching season, he discovered that 
 March had brought in the spring. 
 
 As I approach the denouement of my story, I 
 am troubled with wondering whether I have 
 prepared the way for it, so that it will not seem 
 unnatural and startling. But perhaps I can 
 not expect to do that, since I can only tell it as 
 it occurred ; and it was startling to those who 
 knew Cyril best. We may see the tall tree 
 sway in the wind, down to its very roots, and 
 be sure that some day the blast will overthrow 
 it ; but when the crash comes, though long 
 awaited, it nevertheless fills the beholder with 
 amazement and regret. 
 
 There was a new melodeon wanted at the 
 Bethel Mission ; and it had been voted that 
 funds for its purchase should be collected as 
 speedily as possible, and placed in the hands of
 
 214 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 the treasurer, who was instructed, as soon as 
 lie had a sufficient amount, to select and pay 
 for the instrument. Cyril accepted the charge 
 as lightly as he had done many another of the 
 same kind that had fallen among the duties of 
 his office. With that sort of enthusiasm and 
 ambition which he had often shown before in 
 gaining something for the school, but per- 
 haps more from the . desire to please the little 
 band of teachers with whom he was already so 
 popular, than from any principle in forwarding 
 a good cause, he set about doing his share to 
 collect the sum necessary. He had brought a 
 good deal of money into the school since his 
 connection with it, although he had so little 
 to contribute himself. There were enough 
 
 o 
 
 among his classmates carelessly throwing 
 money about, whose benevolent impulses he 
 could reach by his persuasive statement of the 
 claims of this charity He was as successful 
 this time as always. He had laid Tom under 
 contribution, who, in these days, was grow- 
 ing wonderfully tractable to good influences, 
 and others beside : and the exertions of the
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 215 
 
 rest of the teachers, added to Cyril's, had 
 almost gained the sum needed. 
 
 But, heside this little interest with which he 
 was momentarily occupying his thoughts in the 
 pause of sports at the breaking-up of the win- 
 ter, tl^ere .were other matters, far more closely 
 concerning Cyril, that were all the time weigh- 
 ing upon his mind, and very nearly distracting 
 him with their entanglements. 
 
 First of all, there was news from home that 
 his father's infirm state of health had ended in 
 an alarming illness. Next, there was Cyril's 
 debt. The bill for his suit had been sent in: 
 and the merchant, who had had some unfortu- 
 nate experience in dealing with students, would 
 be likely to press his claim with unpleasant 
 urgency before he allowed Cyril to go home for 
 vacation without making payment. Whether 
 he did or not, however, Cyril's knowledge of his 
 inability to pay was becoming a constant torture 
 to him. He felt the utmost reluctance to write 
 to his mother, reminding her of his father's 
 promise of a new suit for the approaching 
 exhibition ; but no other resource seemed left
 
 210 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 him. Lastly, there was the dissertation, which 
 he must prepare for that occasion, and which 
 must make up in brilliancy for what his ap- 
 pointment lacked in rank ; and, distracted by 
 other cares, it seemed to him, in his first at- 
 tempts to begin writing, that his own particular 
 genius and facility had forsaken him. He 
 could not even think of any subject for his 
 essay that seemed in the least attractive. He 
 had already put off attending to it till but 
 little time was left ; and now, irresolute, and 
 wandering in thought from one topic to another, 
 finding nothing pleasing in any, he had never 
 felt in such despair over any task before. 
 
 Driven by necessity, however, he at last 
 fixed upon a subject ; and, with a pile of books 
 to be examined for information, he shut him- 
 self into his room one Saturday afternoon, 
 determined to finish some plan of his under- 
 taking before nightfall. He entered upon his 
 work in good earnest ; and was at last begin- 
 ning to concentrate his straying thoughts, and 
 even to become interested, when he was inter- 
 rupted by a gentle rap upon his door. He
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 217 
 
 paid no heed at first, supposing that some 
 student neighbor was there, who, not being 
 answered, would take it for granted that his 
 classmate was not at home, and so pass on. 
 But, the knock being repeated, Cyril raised his 
 head, and said, " Go on, if you please, fellows! 
 I'm busy, you see. I can't let you in just 
 now." 
 
 But instead of some hearty voice calling 
 " All right ! " in answer, and the sound of noisy 
 feet clattering down stairs, some one, not 
 young certainly, gave a dry, quiet cough, and 
 an " Ahem ! " and a voice that Cyril did not 
 recognize said respectfully, 
 
 u I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Rivers ; 
 but I should like to speak with you a minute." 
 
 Of course, Cyril, though very reluctant, 
 rose, and opened the door. There stood a 
 little man with very black eyes and hair, and 
 fashionably-cut whiskers, with a somewhat 
 Jewish cast of countenance, and arrayed, from 
 the top of his shining beaver to the pointed 
 tips of his shining boots, in the very latest and 
 neatest style of dress. Why did Cyril start,
 
 218 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 and look so exceedingly dismayed, at the sight 
 of this little man, who was not "a gentleman, 
 certainly, for all his fine dress, and who Avas 
 bowing to him so politely ? Alas ! he owed 
 him money. He had taken his goods, and 
 worn them, without making payment. It was 
 as though Cyril Rivers, so proud and sensitive, 
 the pet of refined society, the very gentleman 
 of his class, was now dependent upon the 
 charity of this little Jewish-looking merchant- 
 tailor, who had come to remind him of his 
 degradation, perhaps cunning enough to know 
 that this was the surest way of obtaining the 
 payment of his claim. As he began with 
 bland civility to explain why he had been 
 forced to intrude upon Mr. Rivers again with 
 his little bill, Cyril felt his position to be too 
 intolerable to be borne. To deny the man, 
 to be obliged to ask his patience and forbear- 
 ance a little longer, to be forced to be explicit 
 in telling the circumstances that had disap- 
 pointed him in his hope of making payment, 
 falsifying statements to make his case fairer, 
 and all for a man he despised, and now even
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 219 
 
 hated, because he had the advantage, was what 
 Cyril could not do. He felt his cheeks burn- 
 ing, and his tongue palsied in his mouth, with 
 the angry obstinacy with which his pride rose 
 up against his necessity. He was not used to 
 being dunned, you see. He was not hardened 
 to such situations. Try to put yourself in his 
 place, young people who read this, and who 
 never yet have known the irksomeness of debt, 
 and you will not so much wonder at what he 
 did. 
 
 There was money enough in his pockets ; not 
 his own, but in his trust. The temptation was 
 too strong; the impulse that drove him to yield 
 to it, too blind and headstrong. Let come 
 what would, he would be free from such a mis- 
 erable care as this. The money for the melo- 
 deon would not be wanted immediately : there 
 would be time to make it good. There was 
 his father's promise of new clothes, that might 
 yet be fulfilled ; there was, at any rate, Tom's 
 friendship and wealth to -fall back upon. Only 
 let him get rid of this man's claim : no other 
 could possibly be so galling. Quick as a flash,
 
 220 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS 
 
 these thoughts passed through Cyril's mind. 
 He pulled forth his treasurer's purse, and, 
 counting out sixty dollars as proudly and in- 
 differently as if they had been all his own, put 
 them into the tailor's hand. The little man, 
 somewhat surprised, but very well pleased to 
 get his money, smiled and bowed, and thanked 
 Mr. Rivers for his patronage, and detailed a 
 long list of elegant new spring goods, which he 
 wished the young gentlemen would only come 
 in and examine. 
 
 But, when he had gone, do you think Cyril 
 returned to his writing with quiet mind ? Ah, 
 no ! Mechanically he seated himself at the 
 table, and opened his book, to find himself, in 
 a few moments, trembling from head to foot, 
 his hands refusing to obey him, his eyes unable 
 to make out the letters upon the page, his 
 mind in a maze of fears. He rose, and walked 
 up and down the room, trying to steady his 
 thoughts, to look at his case fairly, to count up 
 the chances for and against him, to form some 
 plan of action. What was this he had done ? 
 how came he to do it ? and how was he to man-
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 221 
 
 age the consequences ? He tried to think and 
 plan, and could not. He tried to comfort him- 
 self, and grew the more terrified. 
 
 There was no more writing for him 'that 
 afternoon. In a sort of desperation, he took 
 his hat, and went down to the post-office. Pie 
 would surely have a letter from his mother to- 
 night, and that might relieve him. He knew 
 the evening mail was not in yet ; but he was 
 driven by consuming anxiety to go and linger 
 about the doors of the post-office, that his turn 
 might come first in the distribution. There 
 were several of his classmates loitering about 
 there, up and down the busy street, to kill 
 time, not knowing what else to do with the 
 Saturday afternoon. They hailed him with 
 wonder. " What ! you down here, Rivers ? " 
 they cried. " You shut yourself up to write 
 your essay ! " 
 
 Cyril joined them. He seemed in his gayest 
 mood, though he was pale, and had a worn, 
 tired look. He would not for the world have 
 had any one know how fear preyed upon his 
 heart. Some one proposed going to a neigh-
 
 222 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 boring billiard-saloon to while away the time 
 till the mail came in. Cyril, from motives of 
 prudence, and for want of taste for the game, 
 had heretofore kept away from such places; 
 but he yielded readily enough now to the re- 
 quest. He tried joining in the game ; but he 
 could pay no more attention to it than he had 
 been able to give to his writing. His misplay 
 utterly astonished his companions, even in a be- 
 ginner. " I should think you were drunk, Riv- 
 ers," said one. But it was not wine, but in- 
 tolerable suspense, that had taken away Cyril's 
 control over his thoughts and actions. He soon 
 
 O 
 
 gave up trying to play, and spent the time in 
 walking up and down the room, till, from the 
 window, he saw the mail-wagon drive up oppo- 
 site. Quick as a flash, he was out of the room, 
 down stairs, and across the street. 
 
 With what trembling he asked for his letter ! 
 It was there, sure enough, with the home post- 
 mark, and in his mother's writing. He stepped 
 aside to the window to tear open the envelope 
 and discover the contents. First of all, he saw 
 there was no check within ; and then with a
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 223 
 
 sinking heart, in the selfishness of fear, he ran 
 his eye over the loving lines, heedless of all 
 they would impart, till he carne to the one 
 piece of information that seemed most to con- 
 cern him now. The tenderness with which it 
 was conveyed, the disappointment and anxiety 
 of the writer, touched him not at all at this 
 moment. He only gathered that neither father 
 nor mother could help him. His father's sick- 
 ness did not seem to alarm him, nor his moth- 
 er's grief and foreboding to distress him. There 
 was but one thought in his mind at this crisis : 
 How was he to save himself from public dis- 
 grace ? 
 
 He could think of but one resource, and that 
 was in Tom's friendship. There had been a 
 sort of separation between Tom and Cyril since 
 the night of the promenade concert. It was 
 not an estrangement of the heart; for, when 
 they met, their intercourse was still veiy kindly. 
 But there was a certain embarrassment in it 
 not like the old freedom. Cyril, with the 
 proud shyness of one who felt that the friend 
 who once trusted him had at last discovered his
 
 224 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 weakness, could not advise or good-naturedly 
 take the command of Tom as lie used to do ; 
 and Tom, still loving Cyril, but not confident 
 in him as heretofore, could not hide the change 
 in his feelings. Moreover, Tom was changed 
 to all. Some new influence had come over him 
 this winter. He had been trying hard to be 
 more studious ; but his demeanor was variable. 
 Sometimes he would seem exceedingly quiet 
 and earnest, full of moral and reflective re- 
 marks that astonished and amused his friends, 
 but sometimes restless and discontented, sav- 
 agely quarreling with himself and every thing 
 about him. 
 
 But Cyril was still sure that he might trust 
 Tom's loving generosity toward himself, and 
 tried to fortify himself with that assurance in 
 his present distress of mind. 
 
 He had one more ordeal to go through be- 
 fore he could see Tom and set his mind at rest 
 on this point. To-night there was to be 
 another teachers' meeting. It would be torture 
 to Cyril to meet those whose trust he had be- 
 trayed ; but his anxiety would not let him stay
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 225 
 
 away. He would be expected to-night to re- 
 port about the funds for the melodeon, and to 
 receive additions to them ; no doubt, to have 
 the means placed at his disposal to procure the 
 instrument during the coming week. 
 
 He appeared at the meeting as animated 
 and as self-confident as if no feeling of uneasi- 
 ness and guilt and shame had ever visited his 
 heart. He gave in his report of funds raised 
 for the melodeon, with a great show of pleasure 
 at the speed with which tftey had been collect- 
 ed. He said, boldly, that only fifteen dollars 
 remained to be gathered before the school 
 would be enabled to make such a purchase as 
 was desired. As he had partly anticipated, the 
 sum was at once contributed among those pres- 
 ent ; and there was apparently nothing now to 
 prevent the unfortunate Cyril from buying the 
 instrument during the coming week. 
 
 He had, some time previously, asked Miss 
 Kerlie to give him the benefit of her judgment 
 in the choice of the melodeon : so now, with 
 untroubled face, he went and asked her to fix 
 a day when she could go with him to make the 
 
 15
 
 226 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 purchase ; glad enough, however, that she 
 placed it as far on in the Aveek as the following 
 Thursday. With four days' respite, and with 
 a little comfort in realizing how utterly un- 
 imagmed yet was his deed of this afternoon, he 
 went home, already grown somewhat harder 
 and bolder in bearing his hidden guilt. 
 
 But he could not sleep until he had seen 
 Tom. He went from the teachers' meetin^ to 
 
 O 
 
 Tom's room ; but, discovering from the sounds 
 of voices that his -friend was not alone, he 
 walked restlessly up and down the street till he 
 saw Tom's guests come out together. Then 
 Cyril went and rapped upon the door, saying, 
 " Can I come in, Tom? It is Rivers." 
 
 " Come in," answered Tom. 
 
 Cyril entered, to find the room full of smoke, 
 through which he dimly discerned Tom sitting 
 by the table, bending his head over his books. 
 There was a vexed scowl upon his face. His 
 Plato, and his grammars and lexicons and 
 " ponies," were all strewed about him. Cyril 
 was too much surprised at the sight to restrain 
 his comment.
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL' STEWARD. 227 
 
 " What ! studying on Saturday night ? " 
 He had not known Tom. to do such a thin<v 
 
 o 
 
 since he had been in college. That Sunday 
 was the only day in the week proper to get 
 lessons in, had been, apparently, a main point 
 in Tom's creed ; but Cyril saw at once that he 
 had made a mistake in noticing this change of 
 habits. 
 
 "Why not?" said Tom defiantly. And 
 then, too proud to yield to a little false shame 
 about his motives, he added, " Because I've 
 been a heathen all my life, is that a reason why 
 I shouldn't ,, try to be better? I tell you, I 
 haven't forgot what Stavens said once about 
 one law for us all, saints and heathens together." 
 
 Cyril, yet more surprised, hastened to soothe 
 him. The slight sarcasm vanished from his 
 face ; and some of the sorrow that was in his 
 heart appeared instead, as he sat down besida 
 Tom, and answered him gently, 
 
 " You know I'm glad, Tom. It's a hundred" 
 times better to keep it. And don't suppose I 
 thought it strange you should try to do it. 
 You call yourself a heathen, and think I must
 
 228 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 be better, because I have been trained up in 
 religious ways. I tell you, I never felt any 
 right to ask you to join me in them, I was so 
 mueh worse in them than you in your kind of 
 life. You know some of the miserable things 
 I've done : but if you knew all, you would 
 despise me ; you would see as I do, plainly 
 enough, which of us is the most likely to do 
 right." 
 
 It eased Cyril's mind to make this confession ; 
 but its truth was concealed by the disguise of 
 humility and over-scrupulousness to a partial 
 eye. Tom's friendship warmed as he perceived 
 Cyril's sadness, and heard this self-depreciation. 
 He refused to believe words like those. 
 
 " Don't talk so, Rivers ! " he said. " We 
 all get wrong living here together. We don't 
 think ; and we do what is bad without knowing 
 or caring, because nobody else seems to know 
 or care. Talk of yourself ! Why, just think 
 of me in comparison : think what an idle, 
 wasteful, vicious, fool's life I've lived here ! It 
 makes me curse myself now. I can't tell you 
 how I've come to see it; but I do see it: and
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 229 
 
 the worst is, I can't get out of it. I try and 
 try, and am back in it before I know it. I 
 thought I would try and get some good out of 
 to-morrow, as some other folks seem to ; but I 
 sha'n't make it out. It'll be the old story. If 
 I try to listen in chapel, it'll all seem a dreary 
 jargon, that I don't understand ; and very 
 likely I shall go to sleep. And then, out of 
 chapel, you know how time goes when the 
 fellows get together. By night, I shall be 
 enough disgusted with my trying, to give it up, 
 and do any tiling they tease me to do. What 
 can I do? Sometimes I wish I never had 
 been born." 
 
 Alas that Cyril had never fought the good 
 fight himself! had never himself kept the 
 faith ! Here was offered him the opportunity 
 of doing a work, which having done, a man 
 might die contented, a work which would 
 have made his soul shine as the stars, for ever 
 and ever. Tom's was the old cry, " What 
 shall I do to be saved ? " raised in confidence 
 to one whom he loved. If Cyril could have 
 answered it out of the fervor of faith in his own
 
 230 TIIE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 heart, if he could have directed this seeking, 
 struggling spirit toward the Light upon which 
 his own eyes had been fixed, he might now 
 have saved a soul from death. 
 
 But, alas! his own hands had put such 
 hlessedness out of his reach. He had never 
 truly loved God's service ; and he was not 
 thinking now of that or of poor Tom's welfare, 
 but of himself, of his own difficulties and 
 trials. He was to help himself, not Tom ; and 
 again he failed his friend, crying " Peace, 
 peace ! " when there was no peace. He told 
 Tom to keep on trying, and that, as he grew 
 older, he would become more settled, and 
 correct in his desires; that the strife within 
 him between good and evil inclinations would 
 gradually cease as his character matured : as if 
 in all a man's life such a thing could be, unless 
 cither God forsook him, or grace reigned 
 triumphant within him. Surely Cyril must 
 have known better than this ; but the truth he 
 once thought he believed he felt no more. 
 
 Sucli comfort might have been true, for all 
 Torn could tell ; but it left him unsatisfied.
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 231 
 
 He knew not what he had longed for ; but 
 surely this was not it. He ceased to talk about 
 himself, and there was a short silence between 
 them. 
 
 At last, Cyril offered to help him with his 
 lesson ; but he declined the offer in a manner 
 almost surly. 
 
 "No," said he. " It's time I stood alone, or 
 else fell out of my class. Sometimes I think I 
 wouldn't care if I was dropped, and my father 
 got tired of spending for me, and left me to 
 take care of myself, if I only could keep out 
 of this cursed cheating." 
 
 Then there was another silence, till Cyril in 
 his sin, seeming to see this last friend separating 
 from him in his newly-awakened conscientious- 
 ness, showed such sadness in his face as he sat 
 looking into the fire, that Tom, noticing at 
 last, was startled. 
 
 "What ails you, old fellow?" he asked 
 fondly. 
 
 " I'm in trouble, Tom. I cam 6 over here to 
 ask you to help me out." 
 
 " What is it, then ? You know I'll do it if I 
 can."
 
 232 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Cyril hesitated a moment ; and, when he 
 answered, he could not help giving a false color- 
 ing to his necessity. 
 
 " Tom," he said at last, " I have been dis- 
 appointed. That suit I got last winter, 
 I got without my father's knowledge, be- 
 cause he had promised me one this spring; 
 and I thought I could pay as well now as 
 then. But father is sick, and they can not 
 let me have the money ; and Ragye is dunning 
 for what I owe him. I can't endure it any 
 longer. I want you to lend me sixty dollars, 
 and trust me I don't know how long, per- 
 haps two or three years to pay it. You see, 
 I can't trouble my father now : he is sick, 
 pretty nearly worked and worried to death." 
 
 u Ragye ! " said Tom in great wrath. " Dun- 
 ning, is he ? The impudent scoundrel ! Why 
 didn't you kick him down stairs ? The little 
 low-lived tailor ! I'd like to see him dun me ! 
 Why, he's only waited four months ! I'll go 
 down and blow him up for his impudence 
 myself! " 
 
 " Don't you do it, Tom ! " Cyril cried in
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 233 
 
 terror. " Blow him up on your own account 
 if you like ; but this is my business. I can't 
 wrangle with tradesmen ; but I'm wretched 
 when I'm in their debt. Lend me the money 
 if you can, dear fellow ; but don't go talking 
 to Ragye about my affairs." 
 
 " But," said Tom, looking very sorry, " I 
 haven't got the money, Rivers. I've spent 
 almost to my last dollar ; and father will not 
 send me more than enough at the end of the 
 term to pay up and get home with. Only if 
 you wait till then, I guess I can persuade him 
 to send me sixty more. I'll write, and try." 
 
 Cyril groaned : he felt faint with the oppres- 
 sion of dismay. " It won't do, Tom," said he : 
 " I want it now. I'm worn out with thinking 
 of this thing." 
 
 " But you needn't be," said Tom, puzzled. 
 "I'll go down and tell Ragye, if he so much 
 as hints about your bill again, he'll forfeit my 
 custom. Between us, we can get the money 
 in plenty of time to pay him." 
 
 But, seeing that Cyril still remained uncom- 
 forted, he asked, after a minute, earnestly, 
 " What else can I do for you, Rivers ? "-
 
 234 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " Nothing," said Cyril, rising ; " but please 
 don't do that, Tom. Thank you all the same, 
 though. Never mind about it : don't trouble 
 yourself about it any more. I'll settle it my- 
 self. I'll go back to my room, and give you a 
 chance to get your lesson. Good-night ! " 
 
 Tom looked wonderingly after him as he 
 departed. " It is strange," Torn said to him- 
 self. " He is quiet,, and never brags ; but he's 
 as proud as a prince. How nervous and angry 
 he was when I offered to speak to Ragye ! 
 One would think I meant to beg the tailor for 
 him. Poor Rivers ! I wish he had the money 
 my father gives me : he'd spend it like a 
 prince, not like a loafer as I do, never having 
 any thing to lend a friend in trouble. And, 
 as for me, I wish I had been poor, and had to 
 work hard all my life. I believe it would 
 have been better for such a great stupid as I. 
 What business have I to be in purple and line 
 linen ? It's like dressing an ox up in 'em : 
 the yoke and the harness would be better for 
 him." 
 
 Ah, foolish Tom ! like many another discon-
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 235 
 
 tented youth, finding fault with the allotments 
 of Providence ; unwilling to see the yoke and 
 the harness laid ready for you ; not knowing 
 that whether it be rough, or whether it be 
 padded, it must be best for you because it is 
 yours, or that it must grow light andeasy for 
 you if accepted because it is His. 
 
 Poor Cyril has, with his eyes open as it 
 were, cast away his yoke for a garland of 
 flowers, that now, strange to say, begins to 
 weigh upon him like a chain, pressing poison- 
 ous, torturing thorns into his very heart. 
 
 Alone in his room again, Cyril walked up and 
 down, unable to decide what measure to take 
 next. There was one thing he could do : if 
 he should write and tell his mother all, in her 
 terror at the thought of his disgrace, he knew 
 she would contrive in some way to raise the 
 sixty dollars of which he stood in need ; and 
 then, he said to himself, he would leave 
 college at the end of the term, and work night 
 and day to repay her doubly. To let her help 
 him, would, no doubt, be the easiest way out 
 of his difficulty ; but I am thankful Cyril had
 
 236 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 manliness enough not to avail himself of it. 
 Why should he cast the penalty of his folly 
 and sins upon his feeble mother, already 
 struggling with so many anxieties ? make 
 her suffer the unspeakable bitterness of discov- 
 ering hcnv weak and worthless was the son of 
 whom she had been so proud ? Cyril was not 
 quite selfish enough for that. He felt, that, 
 since he had incurred the trouble, he must 
 make his way out of it alone. 
 
 There was another and a better course sug- 
 gested to his mind. It was, since he had done 
 wrong which he could in no way repair, to go 
 and confess it. Would he not do wisely to go 
 to-night to John Seelye, that good and true 
 man, whose trust in bringing him into the 
 school he had so violated, and tell him all, and 
 ask and follow his advice ? However humiliat- 
 ing such a course, it would at least be the 
 speediest way for Cyril to get back to honora- 
 ble conduct. However low he mio-ht be 
 
 o 
 
 brought in the sight of others, he need not 
 scorn himself so bitterly any more ; and to 
 bring upon himself all the reprobation he
 
 JOHN SEELYE'S QUESTION.
 
 THE UNFAITHFUL STEWARD. 237 
 
 dreaded seemed better than to suffer longer 
 the haunting fear of it. The momentary im- 
 pulse was so strong, that Cyril even laid his 
 hand upon the door to go in search of John ; 
 and then his pride arrested him. It was late, 
 he said to himself. He need not go to-night : 
 he could wait till Monday. And then he grew 
 suddenly bold with a new thought. Why 
 need he go at all ? There was no such des- 
 peration in his case as he had been persuading 
 himself. If the melodeon must be bought 
 next week, it need not be paid for then. The 
 school and its conductors were well known, and 
 could easily obtain credit. He would make a 
 first visit to the shop before he took Miss Kerlie 
 there ; and no doubt he could make some ar- 
 rangement with the proprietor to let the pay- 
 ment rest till some future time. This thought 
 freed him from immediate anxiety, so that at 
 last he could lie down to rest. But his sleep 
 was disturbed ; his unforgiven sins, and the 
 troubles in which they had involved him, 
 haunted him in his dreams.
 
 238 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 
 
 " As a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his 
 lifu." 
 
 'YRIL awoke the next morning 
 confirmed in his foolish resolves; 
 greater confidence in himself, and 
 greater fear of confession, coming 
 with the daylight. He said to him- 
 self that he had been foolish to be so much 
 disturbed ; that he had done nothing so very 
 terrible, nothing that he could not repair 
 without its being known to any one. 
 
 But, in spite of his confident reasoning, he 
 was not himself when the week began. He 
 brought a pro-occupied mind to all his duties ; 
 a mind that was turning over and over its 
 hidden thought of trouble and shame, and 
 planning, again and again, every step of its
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 239 
 
 scheme of escape. Weary as lie might be of 
 the remembrance of his deed, he could not 
 turn away his eyes from viewing and review- 
 ing its every detail ; however, he tried to forget 
 himself in pleasure and in application. 
 
 At the first possible moment he went down 
 to the melodeon factory, feeling that, if the 
 necessary falsehood were once told, he should 
 be more at rest. 
 
 With a quiet manner, and an observant eye, 
 he went through the wareroorns, trying this 
 instrument and that, as though intent upon 
 nothing but making the best choice, yet all the 
 while revolving in his mind how to propose the 
 terms of purchase he was obliged to offer. At 
 last, after having pretty thoroughly examined 
 the stock, he pointed out two or three of the 
 instruments as those among which his choice 
 would probably be ; explaining that he wished 
 to bring a lady to examine them, and help him 
 make the final decision. " But first," he said, 
 " I must explain to you the circumstances 
 under which I am making this purchase. I 
 am acting for the Bethel-mission Sunday
 
 240 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 School, the name of which must be familiar to 
 you. We have the funds for the purpose 
 pledged ; but the money is not yet in hand, 
 and may not be for some week*. Meanwhile, 
 our old instrument b^ing badly broken, we are 
 much inconvenienced for want of one. Are 
 you willing to let us have this, and trust us a 
 while for its payment? I am the treasurer, 
 and will give my name in pledge for the in- 
 debtedness." 
 
 " With perfect willingness," answered the 
 merchant. " It is all the same to us, sir. You 
 can pay at your own convenience." 
 
 "Very well, then," said Cyril. "Expect 
 me here again in a few days." 
 
 And, upon Thursday, Miss Kerlie and he 
 went together, and after much discussion, found 
 the chef d'oeuvre of all the instruments in the 
 shop for the price agreed upon ; and it. was 
 readily sent to the chapel, and set up in its 
 place, without another word to Cyril about its 
 cost. 
 
 And now he hoped the matter was fairly off 
 his mind for a while, and that he might enjoy a
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 241 
 
 brief respite from thinking over it. But, 
 instead of that, he seemed to grow the more 
 uneasy and wretched. He set himself desper- 
 ately at work upon his dissertation, the time for 
 the delivery of which was drawing fatally near. 
 But if he had never taken pen in hand before, 
 or put word after word upon paper, he thought 
 he could not have found himself more unable to 
 write. Thought was paralyzed ; reflection had 
 fled beyond the reach of any summons ; memory 
 was empty of the ghost of an idea. He had 
 never had such an experience before. Let 
 the subject be what it might, when he had set 
 himself to consider it, he could usually find 
 enough of interest in it to set his thoughts 
 flowing, and to put him into a fervent energy 
 to express them. But now the powers of his 
 mind seemed to have rebelled against him. 
 Disheartened and disgusted, he pushed on, by 
 force of will and necessity, a feeble and un- 
 worthy work, that, a month ago, he would not 
 have been willing to call his own. The 
 knowledge of his ill success, instead of spurring 
 him to greater effort, seemed to distract and 
 
 16
 
 242 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 paralyze him the more. He longed, with 
 all that was left of his ambition as a stu- 
 dent, to do himself credit on this occasion. 
 He foresaw, that, unless his father's health im- 
 proved, this might be his last year at college ; 
 and lie wanted to leave some honorable repu- 
 tation behind for all the promise with which he 
 had entered. He was dismayed and wretched 
 to discover his powerlessness. 
 
 Ah ! a clear conscience is the best security 
 for a clear head. Perfect control over the 
 faculties of the mind, and the highest vigor of 
 those faculties, can not be expected by one who 
 is indulging or hiding sin. A man's powers 
 must be all disordered and crippled when Satan 
 is leading him captive at his will. Let such a 
 man expect dimness of vision, and trembling 
 hands, and a failing heart. 
 
 The news from home distracted poor Cyril 
 with another cause for fear. They wrote that 
 his father's state forbade any of the family from 
 coming to hear their dear Cyril speak at the 
 exhibition ; and his mother bade him hurry 
 home as soon as it was over. He wrote, and
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 243 
 
 begged her leave to go now ; telling her some 
 of his trouble in writing his essay, and giving 
 as a reason his extreme anxiety about his father. 
 But she answered, that his father would be more 
 disturbed by his return home before the term 
 closed than benefited by his presence ; that 
 he must stay and do his work with as much 
 credit to himself as possible ; and that the 
 thought of his sick father, instead of being a 
 hinderance to him, must give him double 
 earnestness in his effort. From such letters, 
 Cyril would return again to his task, shortly to 
 find himself wondering whether Tom would 
 succeed in obtaining that sixty dollars from his 
 father, and how soon it would come ; or 
 whether the mclodeon merchant might, by any 
 chance, let out the secret of the charge to any 
 one connected with the Sunday school ; or what 
 he could do to earn the money during the 
 coming vacation. For such thoughts he called 
 himself a fool and a coward ; but that did not 
 help him to banish his folly and cowardice. 
 
 The days passed by all too quickly, though 
 they were so miserable. In them Cyril was .
 
 244 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 very much changed. He shrank from com- 
 panionship, pleading the necessity of industry 
 upon his essay. He was as silent and spiritless as 
 he had been used to be vivacious and enthusi- 
 astic. He grew pale and sad-looking; but, 
 when he was questioned, he found sufficient 
 excuse for that in mentioning his father's ill- 
 ness. 
 
 It wanted but a week of the day when the 
 essays were to be handed in for revision. It 
 was late on Saturday afternoon. Cyril had 
 been drudging over his forced and unsatisfac- 
 tory labor until he was nearly worn out. In 
 despair at the confusion in his mind, and the 
 failure of his memory when he tried to recol- 
 lect some line of argument he was citing from 
 a work he had read, he laid down his pen, 
 feeling that he must go again to the college 
 library to find the volume and give the passage 
 a fresh perusal. It was past the hour for the 
 closing of the library ; but the state of his 
 work seemed to admit of no delay. He hoped, 
 too, the short walk in the open air, and the 
 few moments' change of employment, might re- 
 fresh and clear his mind.
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 245 
 
 He went, therefore, to the librarian's room, 
 and, stating the urgency of the case, begged 
 the use of the keys. His request seemed 
 reasonable ; and his statement of being hard at 
 work was proved by his anxious, tired face. 
 He assured the librarian that he could lay his 
 hand upon the book in a minute ; and the keys 
 were intrusted to him without any hesitation. 
 
 Cyril opened the doors of the great hall of 
 books, and turned the key in the lock behind 
 him. He was all alone in the lofty, silent room. 
 Spring sunlight streamed in through the west- 
 ern windows high above the tiers of books, and 
 filled the arched vaults of the ceiling full of 
 yellow light. Below, in silent whiteness, the 
 busts of great and good men who had helped 
 rear this treasure-house of thought stood for 
 ever on guard to protect its sanctity. Behind 
 them, in ranks of thousands, shelf above shelf, 
 along the walls, were ranged the volumes of 
 the wisdom of all ages. Their lettered backs 
 gleamed down upon Cyril with lines of light 
 from far above reach, lines like the glitter of 
 lightning along dark clouds that were full of 
 promises of blessing to the thirsty soul.
 
 246 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Cyril stood and looked about him, awe and 
 quietness stealing over his vexed spirit. Ho 
 :il ways liked to be here. The common world, 
 with all that was mean and violent and sorrow- 
 ful in it, seemed shut out. The windows were 
 so far up, they showed only the clouds aitd blue 
 sky. Whatever of men's lives had been 
 brought into this chamber was the best part, 
 the choice fruit of knowledge won by labor ; 
 wisdom distilled from the experience of sorrow ; 
 the clear cry of warning wrung out by the 
 bitter knowledge of sin, but not the labor and 
 sorrow and foul sin themselves. So, moreover, 
 it seemed as if whoever visited this place left 
 behind him his weaker self, and appeared 
 at his best and noblest, to be like the company 
 in which he found himself. If he were young, 
 he forgot the vanity which occupied his 
 thoughts outside, and grew grave in counte- 
 nance, looking about him with momentary 
 earnestness for help toward some higher and 
 more rarely-heeded aim ; if he were old, he 
 forgot anxiety, and grew peaceful at heart in 
 this quiet company. Shall I speak too highly
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 247 
 
 of this library-hall, filled by wise and careful 
 judgment, when I see in it some dim likeness of 
 that holy house to which we all are called ? 
 For here are gathered the spirits of just men, 
 if not yet made perfect, yet in their most per- 
 fect earthly attainment ; here are an innumer- 
 able company, if not of angels, yet of thoughts 
 whispered by angels to souls that always waited 
 listening ; here is not, indeed, the glorious 
 presence of the Mediator of the new covenant, 
 yet there are to be found here the results of 
 the light and love and knowledge that have 
 been growing and increasing in all parts of the 
 world from the establishment of that covenant 
 with men. Walk softly here, then, and subdue 
 your souls to purity and reverence, as in a 
 sacred spot. 
 
 In this place, so silent, so pleasant, so almost 
 solemn, Cyril was alone ; not with exactly 
 such thoughts as I have written above, but 
 first with a sense of peace at just being alone. 
 He almost wished he need never go forth again 
 into the world he had sinned against, and whose 
 condemnation he dreaded. His own room
 
 248 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 swarmed with harassing regrets and dreads : 
 there was no solitude there ; but here they did 
 not follow him. He believed, if he might 
 come here to write, he could soon finish the 
 essay over which he had spent so much labor 
 in vain. He was at ease here ; he was himself 
 again. And with this feeling of solitude came 
 a sense of power. The great doors were 
 locked, and he held the keys. The windows 
 were high up : no eye could behold him. All 
 things within the room were at his undisturbed 
 command. 
 
 He felt in no haste now to attend to his er- 
 rand. He walked slowly along the room, stop- 
 ping to look musingly upon the strong or noble 
 features of the marble likenesses, or to ponder, 
 with childish, curious wondering, the tablets of 
 stone, covered with hieroglyphics, that had 
 been brought from ruined cities thousands of 
 years old. He was so glad to forget himself 
 for a little while, to hide himself within these 
 stone walls, ivy-covered and book-lined, from 
 the pursuit of fear and the urging of necessity ! 
 He knew just where to find the volume in
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 249 
 
 search of which he had come ; but, instead of 
 hastening toward that corner, he seemed to 
 keep away from it. He sauntered into alcoves 
 where he had never been before ; taking down 
 and examining ancient volumes pierced through 
 by the progress of the little book-worm as by a 
 shot, or meddling with parchment manuscripts 
 removed from the hand of the transcriber by 
 centuries of time. 
 
 At last, a little gallery overhead in a recess 
 attracted his attention. Heaps of pamphlets 
 covered with dust appeared to be stowed away 
 there. There was no ascent from the library- 
 hall to that gallery ; but Cyril was seized with 
 a strange desire to explore it. He did not 
 stop to consider, that, by all this loitering and 
 meddling, he was betraying the trust reposed 
 in him ; to say nothing of the fact, that, by all 
 this idle delay, he risked destroying the labor 
 of the afternoon in the concentration of his 
 thought upon the work he had left to come 
 here. He took the steps used for reaching 
 the high shelves, and placed them against the 
 side of the recess across which the gallery
 
 250 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 bridged. Standing upon them, he could reach 
 the banister above with his hand. He was ac- 
 tive enough with the help of that, and the 
 edge of a shelf that offered another step for his 
 foot, to make the ascent ; and, yielding to an 
 idle impulse, he swung himself up, climbed 
 over the railing, and stood among the dusty 
 heaps of papers. What thing of interest he 
 expected to find there, he could not have told : 
 he hardly cared to examine what was in the 
 place now he had reached it. There were 
 collections of pamphlets filed in orderly man- 
 ner, each file labeled so as to show the nature 
 of its contents ; there were the annual cata- 
 logues of the college for many years ; there 
 were memorial sermons about great men con- 
 nected with the institution, and the preachers' 
 memorial sermons above those. Last of all, 
 Cyril came upon a great heap of such orations 
 of students as had been thought worthy of 
 being kept in published form, pamphlets that 
 had been accumulating during many years. 
 
 These, the efforts of young men like him- 
 self, like himself too, no doubt, once ac-
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 251 
 
 counted brilliant, possessed of more than ordi- 
 nary talent, and likely to win more than or- 
 dinary reputation, yet most of whom had some- 
 how missed fame and a great career, as some- 
 thing in his heart seemed to assure him that he 
 should do, interested Cyril. He took up one 
 and another of the little books, read its title 
 and its date, the name of the author, and a 
 paragraph or two ; saying sadly to himself as 
 he laid each one aside, " I could do as well as 
 that, or better, if I could only do my best. If 
 I were only myself again ! I have not found 
 one here whose work shows powers superior to 
 mine." 
 
 Such comparisons seemed to soothe the mor- 
 tification he suffered in his present disability. 
 
 At last, he drew forth a pamphlet which at- 
 tracted him by bearing a name familiar to his 
 ears, a name beginning to be celebrated ; 
 that of a writer whose works had always given 
 Cyril special delight. His interest was greatly 
 increased, as he read the subject of the oration 
 (now twenty years old), to find it very similar 
 to the one he had chosen for his own. With
 
 252 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 eagerness he opened the pamphlet, and began 
 to read. 
 
 He drew a long sigh of pleasure and sympa- 
 thy as he read the first paragraph. He was 
 struck with the similarity of the style and 
 mode of thought here shown to his own in his 
 happiest moments. The surprise this feeling 
 gave him was increased as he read. It was as 
 if here was what he had been vainly striving to 
 reach in thought, written out nobly and fully, 
 just as he had longed to write it. Here were 
 signs of a mind exceedingly like his own, 
 possessed of the same age, the same knowledge 
 almost, the same tastes, and ways of thought 
 and feeling, but opening under better influ- 
 ences, the influences to which Cyril had 
 once hoped to give himself up, but from which 
 he had suffered little sins to separate him, 
 the influences of God's enlightening Spirit ever 
 sought and obeyed. As he read on, and recog- 
 nized this, Cyril's pleasure turned to regret and 
 envy that were bitter in his heart. 
 
 But, before he could finish the piece, it grew 
 too dark in that dark recess for him to read
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 253 
 
 longer. But he could not leave that pam- 
 phlet. He replaced all the rest as he had found 
 them ; but this he put in his breast-pocket, bent 
 upon examining it more at his leisure. He 
 was not afraid to abstract it from its place, 
 from which, in all probability, it would never 
 be missed. He confessed to himself no mean 
 intent in taking it ; but as he descended, and 
 put the ladder back in its place, he seemed as 
 eager to hasten away from the spot as he had 
 been pleased to linger there a few moments be- 
 fore. The great room had grown dreary in the 
 gathering dusk ; the dark walls frowned upon 
 him, and the ghostly busts stared at him with 
 their blank eyes with severe and stony gaze. 
 He would have gone away without the book for 
 which he had come, but that he remembered, 
 as he closed the door, that he might be ques- 
 tioned about it when he returned the keys. He 
 hastened back, but could not find it as easily as 
 he had supposed, it was growing so dark. He 
 grew nervous in the search, and his hands 
 trembled, as at last he pulled the volume down 
 from its shelf. He hurried away, glad to be
 
 254 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 out of the room, which seemed not lonely now, 
 but full of spirits that whispered together, 
 prophesying harm, and saying of him bitter and 
 reproachful things. 
 
 He carried back the keys, making some 
 plausible excuse for his stay in the library. 
 By this time, the supper-bell was ringing ; and 
 after that came the teachers' meeting, from 
 which he seemed nervously afraid to stay 
 away. It was half-past nine before he was 
 again alone in his room, ready to take up his 
 writing. He read over what he had accom- 
 plished, more than ever dissatisfied with it, 
 angry with himself for his failure, and desper- 
 ate at thinking that the end of the task seemed 
 farther off than when he began. He sat a 
 while in moody thought, and then, taking from 
 his pocket the oration he had brought from the 
 library, slowly perused it again, drawing com- 
 parisons between it and his own effort all the 
 way. A guilty thought had come into his 
 mind : I doubt if it had not half shaped itself 
 to him before he left the library. But, under 
 cover of the night, we seem less afraid to
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 255 
 
 entertain the sinful suggestions we harbored, 
 hid even from ourselves, in the day. What jf, 
 in his extraordinary need, he should help him- 
 self by making use of this speech as his own ? 
 He argued with himself, as the Devil can teach 
 a man to argue, that it would be no great 
 wrong. He could write as well as this was 
 written, perhaps better ; with more originality 
 of thought, and variety of illustration, if he 
 had only his usual power : therefore in using 
 it he should win no undue credit,, only save 
 the reputation he had already earned. He 
 should wrong no one ; for the essay had been 
 long forgotten, and would never be recognized ; 
 and, moreover, the reputation of its author 
 rested upon maturer works. 
 
 The thought presented a great temptation. 
 In this way all his difficulties would be re- 
 moved, his wearisome task be at an end, and 
 his credit as a writer be uninjured. He would 
 not take the essay just as it was, but re-ar- 
 range it, give it a new title, and introduce into 
 it such thoughts of his own as seemed relevant. 
 
 He had grown hardened and reckless.
 
 256 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Present relief from a little of the intolerable 
 weight upon his mind was all he seemed to care 
 for. He had led Tom into sin with little com- 
 punction : it was part of his punishment that 
 he should now yield so easily to the same temp- 
 tation himself.. 
 
 His mind soon made up as to his course, he 
 set himself to making such changes in the stolen 
 essay as should make it better suited to its pre- 
 tended authorship and to the new name he had 
 chosen for it. Such parts of that which he 
 had already written as were best and most 
 appropriate, more to propitiate his conscience 
 than for any need of them, he ingeniously 
 combined with the stolen paragraphs ; pleased 
 to see the parts matching so well in style and 
 sentiment, that no ordinary observer could 
 have told where the piecing was done. 
 
 By the time he had finished this work, he 
 had so depraved his conscience, that he hardly 
 seemed to know himself the lie he was mak- 
 ing. He handed in the piece for his profess- 
 or's examination with almost as much compla- 
 cency as if it had been entirely his own. He
 
 ALONE IN THE LIBRARY. 257 
 
 was sure that it would be approved. He 
 began to feel now as if he had- in some measure 
 regained freedom from care. Tom had promised 
 to obtain the money his friend had asked for as 
 soon as possible, and he would be as good as 
 his word. Cyril thought he might reasonably, 
 therefore, dismiss his anxiety about his obliga- 
 tion ; and began to feel more confidence in his 
 ability to make a way out of his' troubles. 
 
 17
 
 258 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ABOUT DRESS. 
 " Girt about with truth." 
 
 WO weeks passed swiftly away, 
 and the day of the Junior Exhibi- 
 tion was at hand. The professor of 
 elocution had been hearing the 
 speakers rehearse in the chapel on 
 Saturday afternoon ; and those who had fin- 
 ished their parts were gathered by the door, 
 talking together, and criticising the remaining 
 speakers. The committee of arrangements, of 
 whom Cyril was one, were holding some dis- 
 cussion together, when they were addressed by 
 a vain little fellow named Timmens. Tim- 
 mens's chief inspiration all through his college 
 course had been the thought of an opportunity 
 of showing his grace and ability upon a pub- 
 lic stage. Through lack of breeding, and
 
 ABOUT DRESS. 259 
 
 on account of straitened circumstances, that 
 thwarted all his desire for display, he had met 
 countless mortifications in his career, without, 
 however, becoming at all humbler or wiser. 
 
 He brought the question to the committee, 
 whether the speakers at the exhibition must 
 all wear dress-suits. " Because," he continued 
 with eagerness, " I've been making inquiries ; 
 and I find there ain't but seven out of twenty 
 of us that have got any ' swallow-tails.' ' 
 
 "Is that so?" asked Napier, one of the 
 committee, a youth in whose consideration an 
 elegant toilet was almost a point of good 
 morals. " That don't sound very well for the 
 class, seems to me. I don't see how a fellow 
 could wear any thing but a dress-coat on the 
 stage. They'll have to get suits if they haven't 
 got 'em." 
 
 " But," said Johnson, a farmer's quick- 
 witted boy, with strong common sense, but not 
 old enough to be entirely independent of the 
 notions of style prevalent among those with 
 whom he was mingling, " don't you think it's 
 rather rough on a fellow to make him spend
 
 260 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 sixty or seventy-five dollars just to make a 
 ten-minutes' shine with ? I'd rather have the 
 money for something else." 
 
 '.' Why, it isn't just for one occasion : you 
 always want a dress-suit, man. It's a means 
 of civilization ; enables a man to embrace with 
 credit all the opportunities he has of going into 
 the best society. Keep yourself suitably 
 dressed, and you can go anywhere." 
 
 " Yes," said another, a minister's son, 
 like Cyril. " But suppose you really haven't 
 the money to pay for the means of civilization : 
 what then ? " 
 
 " Why, then," said Napier a little scornfully, 
 " of course I don't know what you can do. 
 But I'd advise all of you who can, for the credit 
 of the class, to get properly dressed. You 
 fellows, most of you, don't go anywhere where 
 there are ladies from one term's end to another. 
 You think you don't need any thing but hob- 
 nailed boots and rusty walking-suits to lounge 
 round college in : and so, when you do happen 
 to want something better, you think it's too 
 much trouble or expense to get it just for this,
 
 ABOUT DRESS. 261 
 
 or just for that ; and you do without. It's a 
 disgrace to you, I think. 
 
 " But then," he added, turning to one or 
 two intimate friends who stood near him, and 
 lowering his voice, " what a pity it is that half 
 the fellows that get good appointments are poor 
 fellows ! On such occasions as this, we hardly 
 make a decent show of gentlemen." 
 
 Cyril felt a twinge of shame. How was it 
 that he was going to make a show in wearing 
 the traditional dress of Napier's gentleman ? 
 
 Meanwhile, Timmens had turned to some of 
 those, who, like himself, suffered from the lack 
 of black broadcloth, and was explaining to them 
 the plan by which he thought he might' satisfy 
 his vanity in spite of his poverty ; for indeed he 
 did feel that it would be a serious mortification 
 to be obliged to appear upon the stage in 
 costume not the most approved. 
 
 " Here we are, fellows," he said, " with coats 
 and pants of all shades. I say, it won't do ; 
 but I can't afford to have a new suit any more 
 than the rest of you." 
 
 " Well, what are you going to do about it, 
 then ? " said Johnson^
 
 262 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 " Why, I'll tell you. Subscribe and hire a 
 suit that'll fit the average of us ; and let each 
 one take his turn to speak in it. The fit of the 
 coat won't be noticed a little way off; and 
 there isn't such an awful difference in our sizes 
 anyway." And Timmens straightened himself 
 beside tall Johnson, very much like the frog 
 that was so sure of her ability to swell to the 
 size of an ox. 
 
 " Well," said Johnson, smiling, " if you 
 could make that plan answer, I should think 
 the rest of us might. But I never wore any- 
 body's clothes but my own yet ; and I shouldn't 
 like to be doing it for the first time in public." 
 
 " But you see," said Timmens with great 
 earnestness, " you haven't got any clothes that 
 are fit now ; but, for half a dollar apiece, ten 
 of us might have a suit, and come out in real 
 stunning style. I don't see what else there is 
 to do. They've laid down the law that we 
 must wear black, and we can't afford to buy it. 
 If we do the best we can in this way, nobody 
 can complain. 
 
 "You see," continued Timmens, who was
 
 ABOUT DRESS. 263 
 
 going to make a capital pettifogger for pertina- 
 city and ingenuity, " I don't say we shall make 
 any pretense about it. We can have a dress- 
 ing-room off that side of the stage ; and we go 
 in there in gray or brown clothes, and 
 come out in black ones. It's like tableaux, or 
 any thing else, when we've got to play a part, 
 and have a dress suited to it. Anybody may 
 understand that takes the trouble to notice. 
 We don't pretend any thing about it. Ain't 
 that sensible ground to put it on ? What do 
 you all say ? " 
 
 " I say," said Bowson, his eyes twinkling, 
 " it's a capital idea. I go in for it. It'll 
 save me seventy-four and a half dollars, and 
 very likely a row with my paternal about 
 another bill he didn't expect." 
 
 Bowson was one who had a very liberal 
 allowance from his father, but who, having lit- 
 tle taste for general society, and plenty of ways 
 of spending for his own gratification other than 
 in dress, was more frequently seen in clothing 
 proper for the base-ball ground, or the boating- 
 house, than in any thing more elegant. He
 
 264 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 was too much of a boy yet to care a great deal 
 for conventionalities ; and yet he, too, felt it 
 incumbent on him, upon this occasion, to do as 
 others of his means did. 
 
 But the considerations he had expressed 
 were not all that influenced him. There was 
 always in Bowson a flow of kindly sympathy 
 toward others, revealing itself under many dis- 
 guises, in hidden ways, that was like the laugh- 
 ing meadow-brook, along whose course flowers 
 and fresh grasses spring up, and hide the sweet 
 waters by which they flourish. He saw these 
 " poor fellows," with as strong a desire to be in 
 the fashion as other young men, gathered 
 together to help each other put the best face 
 possible upon their little vexation ; and, while 
 Napier deplored their condition as discreditable 
 to the class, a generous impulse moved Bowson 
 with good-natured hyprocrisy to pretend that 
 he was one of their party, well aware that the 
 companionship of one not necessitated to do as 
 they did made their case easier, and conscious 
 that his merry humor could make pass off lightly 
 what might be, to some of them at least, an
 
 ABOUT DRESS. 265 
 
 awkward and trying matter. And when he 
 said gayly, " A capital plan ! " there was a bright- 
 ening immediately in some of the faces that had 
 been a little anxious and discontented. 
 
 Even Johnson began to think it was no such 
 discreditable thing to wear other people's 
 clothes, provided it was an understood matter, 
 and a necessary part of the evening's cere- 
 monies. 
 
 But while they were settling the arrangement, 
 getting the names of those who Avould sub- 
 scribe, and agreeing to whom the coat that was 
 to answer for all should be fitted, John Seelye 
 came down from the long drilling in pronun- 
 ciation and gesture to which the professor of 
 elegant taste had felt it necessary to subject 
 him. 
 
 " Halloo ! " said Timmens : " here's another ! 
 Put your name down to our subscription, 
 Seelye, and have a share in the dress-coat for 
 the exhibition." 
 
 " What ? " said John, surprised. 
 
 " Why, we fellows that haven't got good 
 clothes to speak before the ladies in, have to
 
 266 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 ' rag out ' somehow for the credit of the class ; 
 and we are going to do it on the co-operation 
 principle, we subscribe and hire a coat, and 
 each one wears it in turn." 
 
 " Big and little, long and short, fat and lean," 
 said Bowson gravely. 
 
 John could not help smiling. " Do you 
 mean, Timmens," he said, " that I am to wear 
 the same coat as you ? " 
 
 " Why, yes," said Timmens. " It'll be a 
 little too tight for you, and a little too loose for 
 me ; but it won't make much difference. If 
 there's any fellow that really can't wear it, I 
 guess he can borrow one among the fellows." 
 
 John was still smiling; but he shook his 
 head. " No, Timmens," said he, " I won't 
 borrow a coat, nor hire one. If the ladies don't 
 like the best clothes I've got, I'm sure I'm 
 sorry ; but I can't help it." 
 
 " But you see," said Timmens, " it's custom- 
 ary to wear a black suit ; and the committee 
 are anxious to have all of us do so that possibly 
 can." 
 
 " But I can't," said John. " I have not got
 
 ALOUT DRESS. 267 
 
 one ; and no man's coat will fit me but my 
 own." 
 
 " Ho ! " said Bowson, trying his powers of 
 persuasion : " you needn't feel so big ! Here's 
 Johnson, as broad-shouldered as you are: if 
 we can fix him in it, I guess we can you. 
 Come, now, you ain't going up there with those 
 brown clothes : do as the rest of us do." 
 
 " Yes," said John, " I'm going up with 
 these very clothes. I'm sorry you don't like 
 'em, fellows ; but you see I couldn't wear any 
 other. To dress up in fine clothes that don't 
 belong to me, just for one occasion, seems to 
 me a little like deceiving folks. I don't want to 
 look better or richer than I am, even for five 
 minutes, and to a house full of strangers. 
 There's one lady at least, I know, would take 
 no pleasure in seeing me so." 
 
 "Eh! who's that ?" said Bowson curiously. 
 
 " My sister," said John, speaking soberly. 
 " She taught me the first things I ever learned ; 
 and one of them was to speak and act truly in 
 all manner of little things if I wanted to be true 
 in great things."
 
 268 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 There was a little silence at this earnest 
 mention of a sister's teaching. I will say here, 
 that, at the exhibition, the fellows saw this 
 sister of John's. He had reserved for her a 
 prominent seat, and waited upon her with great 
 respject. She was a New-England school-mis- 
 tress, over forty years of age, tall and angular, 
 and very plain in face and dress ; but the 
 shrewd, bright and kindly expression of her 
 face proved hers to be one of the characters 
 that always distribute strength and blessing in 
 every sphere where they work. She it was, 
 who, with the most limited opportunities of 
 education herself, had been wise enough to 
 inspire her young brother with the reverence 
 for cultivation which had brought him to college 
 and insured his success tliere. There was 
 reason why he should wait upon her with 
 marked respect ; and she had a right to be 
 pleased and proud over the results of her work 
 as she heard him speak. 
 
 " But you don't really think there's any thing 
 wrong in our just putting on another coat to 
 speak in, do you ? " said Johnson to Seelye.
 
 ABOUT DRESS. 269 
 
 " Why, no," said John, considering. " I 
 wouldn't say it was wrong ; and yet it seeuis a 
 little like wrong. You see, you are not inde- 
 pendent enough to wear what you've got, be- 
 cause folks think you ought to have something 
 else. You haven't got it, and so you contrive 
 to seem to have it. And, the next time you 
 can't do exactly as other people do, you will 
 be still less independent, and you will contrive 
 some way to seem again. And so, when you 
 get farther on in life, and perhaps get a wife 
 that feels just as you do, only more so, 
 you will want to appear better off than you are 
 on a great many occasions ; and you'll cheat 
 yourself out of comfort, and cheat other peo- 
 ple with falsities, and very likely get into debt, 
 and make a bad citizen." 
 
 " Phew ew ! " said Bowson. " And all 
 because I changed my coat to speak at the 
 Junior Exhibition ! " 
 
 "Yes," said John, smiling; "just to please 
 the ladies with the show. Don't you see how 
 bad it is to encourage them in such ideas ? Be 
 sure they'll make you sorry for it one of these
 
 270 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 days. Instead of letting them lead you into 
 unnecessary extravagance, you ought, by your 
 example and ideas, to check their tendency 
 that way." 
 
 " Phew ew ! " cried Bowson again. 
 " You don't mean to make us responsible for 
 all their follies ? " 
 
 " No," said John, " except as every man is, 
 in a measure, responsible for public opinion. I 
 don't know much about women myself, except 
 one good one ; but I judge they are pretty 
 much like the rest of the world in wishing to 
 do as others do, and are as much influenced by 
 what they think you require as you are this 
 minute by what you think they will consider 
 proper. But you needn't go out of your way 
 to settle your duties to them : just look out for 
 your duty to yourself. You have a perfect 
 right to do as you please, boys, in this little 
 thing ; but as for me," swinging his hat, and 
 imitating the endeavor he had been making in 
 his elocution-lesson, " give me liberty in 
 honesty, or give me death." 
 
 " Hurrah for Seelye ! " cried Bowson as
 
 ABOUT DRESS. 271 
 
 John passed out. " There's the genuine in- 
 vincible pluck that'll go through fire and water, 
 silk and broadcloth, after common sense, as 
 easy as a bullet through paper. I say, fellows, 
 I like what he says. What do you say ? Don't 
 you think, now, we owe it as a duty to our 
 fair sisters to show them our independence of a 
 stupid old custom, by making our bow to them 
 in the best clothes we've got, without going 
 out to hire something better ? It's a mean 
 kind of shamming, after all, to wear one thing 
 in the audience, and another thing upon the 
 stage. It's degrading the occasion, a's if it 
 were a sort of play." 
 
 " So I say," answered Johnson heartily. " I 
 shall do as Seelye does. I don't believe I 
 could speak a single word if I got up there in, 
 another man's clothes, I should feel so cheap. 
 I'd rather wear my gray coat, if folks do 
 stare." 
 
 " It won't be any matter at all," said another, 
 " as long as there are enough of us to keep 
 each other in countenance." 
 
 " What do you say, Timmens ? " asked
 
 272 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Bowson, perceiving slyly that the aspiring 
 youth's countenance had fallen somewhat. 
 
 " Why, if the rest don't care, of course I 
 don't," said Timmens. " But I don't believe 
 that backwoods fellow knows any thing; and 
 I guess you'll all be rather mortified, when it 
 comes case in hand, not to be dressed up prop- 
 erly." 
 
 " Well, if we are," said Bowson, " we'll 
 consider what we're doing, by the power of 
 example, for all the giddy girls; and that'll 
 console us. I guess we'll abide by what clothes 
 we've got." 
 
 Cyril, whom Napier had left, and who stood 
 by and listened to this discussion, couldn't join 
 in the laughter and jokes of the light-hearted 
 .crowd as they followed Bowson sauntering 
 away. If Cyril had had John's manliness, or 
 if he had had Bowson's good sense in choosing 
 the honorable course when it was pointed out 
 to him, he would not have been to-day a man 
 harassed by debt and dishonesty. He went 
 away to his room, bitterly reproaching himself 
 for his folly, but not yet remembering that the
 
 ABOUT DRESS. 273 
 
 fear of the Lord, the wisdom that the weakest 
 mind upon the smallest occasions may take for 
 its sure defense, would have protected him if 
 he had not cast it away. 
 
 18
 
 274 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 
 
 " For he is cast into a net by his own feet." 
 
 
 
 'YRIL'S stolen oration had come 
 back to him unsuspected, and with 
 praises. He had perfected himself 
 in speaking it. He felt no fear in 
 using it : it had been forgotten for 
 twenty years. 
 
 On that evening of the exhibition, all other 
 anxieties were swallowed up in one. That 
 afternoon he had received a short note from 
 his sister, bidding him take the first train home 
 after the speaking, for his father had grown 
 unexpectedly and rapidly worse, and was not 
 expected to survive more than a day or two 
 longer. Before the warning of such an im- 
 pending sorrow all other fears looked trivial,
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 275 
 
 even while they added an unspeakable remorse 
 to its weight. 
 
 Cyril was one of the ushers, and wore again 
 the blue ribbon in his button-hole. But his 
 manner to-night was very different from the 
 gay complacency he had shown at the prome- 
 nade concert. Not all the " nods and becks 
 and wreathed smiles " of the young ladies of 
 his acquaintance in various, parts of the house 
 could call any answering smile upon his pale, 
 wan face, or enliven the weary, absorbed man- 
 ner in which he was performing his duties. 
 
 As soon as the music began, and the rustle 
 of dresses, and stir of seating the late-comers, 
 had subsided, he went up to the corner near 
 the stage, where some of his classmates were, 
 and, finding a seat among them, leaned his 
 head upon his hand, trying to banish the 
 thoughts which crowded so thick and fast upon 
 his mind, that he feared they would utterly 
 drive out the speech he had committed to mem- 
 ory so carefully. His companions rallied him 
 upon his downcast looks, attributing them to 
 the nervousness which excited some of the
 
 276 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 others who were to be speakers. So, at last, 
 he gently told them what news he had received 
 from home ; and, after that, he could not but 
 be touched and comforted by the kind consider- 
 ation and sympathy they showed him. 
 
 One after another of his classmates appeared 
 upon the stage, and went through with what 
 was to each the great event of the evening ; 
 each receiving, as he finished, a hearty round 
 of applause from his friends below. There 
 was Johnson, whose frank address and simple 
 good sense made up for some boyishness in his 
 thought, and mode of expression. There was 
 Napier, whose neat little essay, fine and smooth 
 and finished, and fragrant with delicate flowers 
 of fancy, was so very characteristic ; there was 
 Timmens, whose appearance at last, in a very 
 stylish dress-suit, created almost audible laugh- 
 ter among some who had heard the conversa- 
 tion recorded in the last chapter, and whose 
 ludicrous oration upon Daniel Webster, of 
 whose mighty genius it was not in the nature 
 of possibility for Timmens's little head to hold 
 the remotest conception, completed the amuse-
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 277 
 
 merit of the hearers. There was Bowson, 
 whose bright and humorous essay, and whose 
 popularity, won him a double round of ap- 
 plause. There was John Seelye, whose words, 
 concise, plain, and forcible, caused at least one 
 face in the audience to beam with intense satis- 
 faction. 
 
 But Cyril had hardly heard one word of the 
 whole, or ceased from the mental repetition 
 of his piece, an occupation he found the 
 safest to keep off agonizing thoughts. He had 
 applauded when the rest did, as a matter of 
 course ; and now and then the fragment of 
 some stately sentence about truth or honor or 
 immortality those lofty things that so many 
 youth love to 'dignify their essays by writing 
 about, but not their lives by striving for 
 would catch his ear, distressing him with a 
 sound like the loud outcry of public blame. 
 
 At last his own namo was called ; and col- 
 lecting himself, with the remembrance of the 
 public eye upon him, he put his manuscript 
 into the hand of his prompter, and went 
 toward the stage.
 
 278 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 He passed, as he went, a stranger sitting in 
 one of the front pews. He was a noticeable 
 man, with fine and intellectual features, and an 
 exceedingly cheerful and animated expression. 
 His bright dark eyes let nothing escape their 
 notice, and seemed to convey to him a better 
 understanding of men and things than most 
 persons can gain from mere vision. Those 
 eyes were watching the events of the evening 
 with an interest different from the quiet, con- 
 descending one of most middle-aged persons 
 present ; with an interest as fresh and genuine 
 as that of the most enthusiastic school-girl in 
 the house. The stranger was reviewing the 
 scenes of his youth for the first time after a 
 lapse of twenty years. 
 
 His name was one never mentioned without 
 complimentary titles, such as the honorable, 
 the eloquent, the wise, the accomplished; and 
 the learned president and professors of the col- 
 lege, upon whom he had looked with such awe 
 when he received his diploma at their hands, 
 had hastened to pay him marks of respect as 
 soon as mention was made of his presence in
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 279 
 
 the town. One of those professors sat beside 
 him now, answering his questions ; a pale, 
 stooping, grave man, whose quiet face was a 
 complete contrast to the stranger's bright, 
 vivacious one. The one man was like a golden 
 lamp all aflame for light and warmth ; the 
 other like a silver censer, from which the 
 softly-consuming ashes of precious intellectual 
 growths growths found dried and shut up in 
 many books diffused a sweet, ever-ascending 
 perfume, an air sacred and stimulating, that 
 youth could not breathe without refinement. 
 
 The stranger was saying to himself that no 
 consciousness of success now was half as sweet 
 as that with which he descended the stairs of 
 that stage twenty years ago amidst the ap- 
 plause his youthful effort had excited. As he 
 sat and watched the young men, he seemed to 
 have returned to that hour. He was one of 
 them, passing through just such emotions as 
 those with which they went up and descended 
 from the stage. None of them guessed how 
 much sympathy was in the heart of this distin- 
 guished-looking stranger. He appeared so
 
 280 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 keen, and perhaps so critical, that some of 
 them almost faltered as they spoke, catching 
 his eye upon them. 
 
 Now, as Cyril went forward to the stage, 
 his appearance especially attracted this gentle- 
 man. " There goes myself, I think," he 
 silently soliloquized, leaning forward to look, 
 " my very self as I was twenty years ago. 
 Only if my promise equaled this young man's, 
 as I judge it from his looks, how far short of 
 it I must have fallen ! 
 
 " But then," he continued, after another 
 glance at Cyril's face, as it now looked down 
 from the stage, " I surely never wore a face as 
 wearied and melancholy as that. My life was 
 all bright and hopeful in those days. It is sad 
 it betokens something wrong, I am afraid 
 to see a brow so youthful so darkened. What 
 can be the cause ? " 
 
 And then he thought, " How gracefully he 
 stands ! What a sweet and flexible voice he 
 has! What an elegant and striking opening 
 sentence that is ! This young man is one who 
 has certainly all the gifts of a successful
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 281 
 
 speaker ; and I see, by the fire brightening in 
 his eye, and the color corning upon his cheek, 
 that he loves to use them. 
 
 " Ah ! what is this ? He is hitting upon the 
 very vein of thought where I fancied I had 
 found gold twenty years ago, when I won 
 the Appleton medal. This is curious, very 
 curious. Hark ! " 
 
 The stranger ceased his soliloquy in aston- 
 ishment, listening to the words of the dis- 
 course. If any of those near had been watch- 
 ing his face, they would have been amazed at 
 the startled and dismayed look it wore in the 
 few following seconds. He could scarcely 
 believe his ears as he heard Cyril uttering 
 sentences as familiar, as much a part of him- 
 self as it were, as his own name, sentences, 
 every word of which had been a carefully- 
 placed touch that helped to make pictures, 
 all of whose brightness no eye but the author's 
 could ever see. Himself as he had been he 
 had called Cyril ; but was there any possible 
 likeness of mind that could enable one man to 
 think the very same thoughts, and express
 
 282 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 them in the very same words, as another ? 
 Ah, no ! As the gentleman began to see the 
 truth through the bewilderment into which hn 
 had been at first thrown, his heart sank with 
 shame and pity for poor Cyril. He knew he 
 could not be mistaken : the words of his most 
 earnest and ambitious youthful effort were like 
 none he had written since. Moreover, they 
 were coming, in their carefully-made arrange- 
 ment and connection, back to his mind, antici- 
 pated from Cyril's lips. 
 
 The stranger was not angry, but a little hurt 
 at feeling that what had once seemed, even 
 though at so distant a day, sacred and noble, 
 the best fruit of his mind, should be stolen and 
 profaned. The most like to an unkind emotion 
 that he had, he experienced in the sarcastic 
 scorn which curled his lip as he listened when 
 his first astonishment had subsided. 
 
 " You do it well," he began silently com- 
 menting again. " You evidently understand 
 it. Who could suspect you had stolen what 
 you repeat with such earnestness? That 
 accent I know I did not use in that place ;
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 283 
 
 but, nevertheless, your way renders the mean- 
 ing with considerable power. Ah ! you have 
 changed that illustration for one which alludes 
 to things of more modern occurrence. Cun- 
 ningly done ; and those interpolations come as 
 if they belonged there. Ah, what a pity that 
 such fine talent should employ itself in 
 fraud ! " 
 
 And, with that sigh, all lighter and more 
 unworthy feeling vanished from the noble 
 heart in kind concern for the poor youth w r ho 
 stood there, so unconscious of his disgrace ; 
 nay, so proud because the audience were re- 
 markably attentive to the words they deemed 
 his own. 
 
 " What shall J do ? " thought the stranger. 
 " To let him go unaware of his detection would 
 be most cruel kindness. Shall I go and talk 
 with him myself, but let the thing be for ever 
 hidden between himself and me ? But I am 
 afraid that will not answer. One who could 
 do such a thing as this must require bitter and 
 long-to-be-remembered punishment. Besides, 
 he has deceived the whole community. Ho
 
 284 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 has cheated his teachers, and entered into 
 rivalry with his companions unfairly. They 
 have all a right to know." 
 
 And so he thought it best to make the reve- 
 lation while he had the proof ready to hand. 
 He touched the arm of the professor beside 
 him, who was listening with unusual pleasure. 
 The change in the stranger's face, which, lately 
 animated and smiling, was now grave and se- 
 vere, surprised the old man ; but how he was 
 shocked when he listened to what the stranger 
 had to tell ! He could hardly bring himself to 
 believe it. 
 
 " Sir," he said, very much agitated, " this 
 is such a serious charge to bring againsfe the 
 young man ! There must be some mistake, 
 some remarkable coincidence : it can not be a 
 fraud." 
 
 " Listen," said the stranger ; and he began 
 anticipating Cyril's sentences, word for word, 
 for whole paragraphs ; while the professor, lis- 
 tening with astonishment and grief, was no lon- 
 ger able to doubt Cyril's guilt. The real 
 author of the main part of the speech readily
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 285 
 
 distinguished such portions of it as were not his 
 own, bidding the old man notice a certain dif- 
 ference in Cyril's manner of delivering them ; 
 an intensity and weight being given to that 
 which he had himself written, which no art 
 could teach him to use in. reciting the composi- 
 tions of another, as an additional proof. Cyr- 
 il's deed was but too evident : not even the char- 
 ity that hopetli all things could refuse to see it. 
 
 As Cyril finished his speech, and made his 
 parting bow, his glance distinguished two out 
 of the thousand faces of the audience, two 
 that were looking at him with such severity 
 and sorrow, that he was startled. He left the 
 stage with an uneasy feeling, that the shower 
 of bouquets he was forced to stop and gather 
 up, and the triple round of applause that was 
 given him, could not soothe away. 
 
 Those two faces were still turned upon him 
 when he had come down and stood receiving the 
 congratulations of his classmates. They trou- 
 bled him exceedingly. They seemed to make 
 visible to him the aspect of his conscience, 
 against whose vexation he had so persistently
 
 286 THE STORY OF Cl'RIL RIVERS. 
 
 shut the door of his heart. lie could* not stay 
 to endure them longer. He began hastily tak- 
 ing leave of his friends, explaining that he 
 must prepare to start for home immediately. 
 
 They let him go with many expressions of 
 affection and sympathy. At the door, he found 
 Tom Racldon waiting for him. Cyril was glad 
 of an opportunity to speak with him. He put 
 his arm through Tom's, and asked him to come 
 a little way down the street. Tom was to re- 
 main in town during the short spring vacation. 
 Cyril spoke of his father's sickness, and of his 
 being obliged to hurry away, leaving many of 
 his affairs in disorder. He asked if Tom 
 would send on to him any letters, especially 
 city letters, that might come to his address here 
 in his absence ; and, if at any time Tom should 
 get the sixty dollars he had promised, would he 
 put it in a directed envelope which Cyril gave 
 him, and have it sent to its destination ? The 
 envelope was addressed to the melodeon mer- 
 chant, and contained his bill. Cyril briefly ex- 
 plained the story to Tom, as he must needs do. 
 
 " I paid for my clothes first, you see," he
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 287 
 
 said, "because that had been longest owed. 
 And now I have to look to you, Tom, for the 
 other. It's a worse debt, I know ; for I'm re- 
 sponsible to those who have once raised the 
 money to pay it." 
 
 Cyril could see that even Tom was some- 
 what shocked at the revelation. " I was a 
 fool, Tom," he said ; " but, oh ! I've suffered 
 for it, I tell you: so forgive me, and stand 
 by me, won't you ? for I've no one else to 
 look to." 
 
 Tom's generous heart was easily . softened. 
 He promised to do all for Cyril that lay in his 
 power, and assure'd him that it should be all 
 made right soon. 
 
 Cyril thanked him with sincere gratitude ; 
 and, at the door of his room, they shook hands 
 and parted. 
 
 Cyril had hardly left the exhibition-hall, 
 when Prof. Reeve, and the gentleman sitting 
 with him, after a short consultation together, 
 rose, and departed also. They followed Cyril 
 and Tom ; so that, when the latter turned back, 
 he met them only a few rods off. He hardly
 
 288 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 noticed the circumstance, though ; for he was 
 hurrying to get back before the exhibition 
 closed. There was a certain young lady there, 
 with her mother, for whom he had taken great 
 pains in securing the best seats in the house, 
 and whom he would not, for any thing less than 
 his friendship for Cyril, have lost the pleasure 
 of escorting home. Tom's partiality for Miss 
 Owens, his companions said, was ceasing to be 
 a subject for jokes. When a fellow grew rest- 
 less every night in the week that he could not 
 meet a certain young lady, yet was held back, 
 by a dread of intruding, to let long intervals 
 pass between his visits to her ; when, after each 
 one, he grew strangely quiet, gentle, and re- 
 served ; when he never spoke her name any 
 more in careless intercourse among his com- 
 rades ; when it evidently made him tremble to 
 think he had dared offer her an invitation, and 
 he feared the very choicest seat in the house 
 was not good enough for her, why, then the 
 matter was beginning to look serious. And 
 the fellows shook their heads while they sagely 
 opined that it was a sad thing for Torn to fall
 
 THE EXHIBITION. 
 
 289 
 
 so much in love in that quarter ; that such a 
 rough uncivilized fellow as he would only be 
 ruthlessly scorned by one who was the very 
 flower of culture and refinement. 
 
 19
 
 290 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE DOUBLE LOSS. 
 
 41 He hath destroyed me on every side, and I am gone ; and mine 
 hope hath He removed like a tree." 
 
 'YRIL was in his room, glad, 
 oh ! so glad, that the evening was 
 over, and that he might hurry home. 
 He had changed his suit for other 
 clothes, that hateful suit, that he 
 never wished to wear again. He could not 
 take it home, but would leave it here, with 
 orders, if he did not come back to college, to 
 have it sold with some other little possessions, 
 the value of which might help pay his debt 
 to the Sunday school. He was hastily packing 
 the rest of his clothing and some of his books, 
 when a knock upon his door interrupted him. 
 Judge how he was startled, when he opened 
 it, to meet the two severe and sad faces, a
 
 THE DOUBLE LOSS. 291 
 
 passing glimpse of which had so disturbed him 
 as he left the stage a half-hour since ! 
 
 Cyril stood speechless with surprise and 
 vague fear. He could not summon enough 
 presence of mind to make any respectful salu- 
 tation to his professor, or to ask them to 
 walk in. 
 
 " Mr. Rivers," said the professor, " we have 
 a few minutes' business with you." 
 
 Cyril held the door a little wider open : he 
 had not yet recovered the use of his voice. 
 
 " This," said the professor as they entered, 
 motioning toward the stranger, and fixing his 
 serious eyes upon Cyril's face, "is the Hon. 
 Mr. Elton of Leroy." 
 
 Every other fear had entered Cyril's mind 
 as he looked at his visitors ; but the detection 
 of his essay for some curious reason, probably 
 because he had, from the beginning, felt so 
 safe in the fraud he had forgotten. At the 
 
 O 
 
 mention of this name, then, he was completely 
 overwhelmed. The entire suddenness of the 
 blow took from him all power of dissimulation. 
 He could not hide his consternation. His face
 
 292 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 grew deadly white ; and he staggered, so that 
 the stranger, full of pity, reached out a hand 
 to support him. " Mr. Rivers," he said as he 
 drew him to a chair, " I see you know why we 
 have come." 
 
 But Gyril, still scarcely overcoming the 
 faintness that had fallen upon him, with the 
 first return of thought made an instinctive 
 effort to conceal his desperate shame. 
 
 "I I do not, sir," he answered. " Have 
 you a telegram from my father, professor ? " 
 
 "Your father, sir?" said the professor 
 angrily, and yet puzzled by the apparent ear- 
 nestness and good faith of the question. 
 
 " He is very sick," said Cyril. " He is 
 dying, they say. I only heard to-day. I am 
 preparing to go to him. I feared, when I saw 
 you, you might have come to break to me 
 worse news from him. That was why I was 
 so overcome." 
 
 The quickness and adroitness of this feint 
 puzzled the professor still more, and astonished 
 Mr. Elton ; but he was not in the least 
 deceived.
 
 THE DOUBLE LOSS. 293 
 
 " Young man," he said, fixing his stern, 
 bright eyes upon Cyril, " you are telling a 
 falsehood. You know why we came, and why 
 you trembled to see us." 
 
 Cyril shrank cowering under the glance. 
 
 " Mr. Rivers," said the professor, " we have 
 come from the exhibition-hall, where we list- 
 ened to your recitation of an essay which this 
 gentleman recognized as one written by him- 
 self twenty years ago. He proved the theft to 
 me by anticipating the very words as they came 
 from your mouth. I have brought this charge 
 to you to ask if there is any thing you have to 
 urge in its extenuation." 
 
 " It is a mistake, sir," said Cyril, his face 
 burning now with shame. " I did find a 
 speech in the library, following the same train 
 of thought as mine, and did quote a few para- 
 graphs from it ; but mine was almost finished 
 before I came across Mr. Elton's, sir." 
 
 "Where is your manuscript?" asked the 
 professor. 
 
 It was near at hand : but Cyril could not 
 give it up ; it was only another proof of his
 
 294 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 guilt. He seemed hemmed in on every side. 
 In his desperation, his head drooped again ; 
 and conviction wrote itself in every line of his 
 face. 
 
 Then Mr. Elton spoke to him again more 
 kindly, but plainly. 
 
 " Mr. Rivers," he said, " you hesitate to 
 give it up because it will falsify your statement. 
 But there are three you and I, and the One 
 who knows all hearts who do not need its 
 testimony. To have the condemnation of God 
 and your own soul, that is the most terrible 
 thing. Of what consequence is it, since you 
 have that, whether the reprobation of 'the 
 world is added ? Why are you so afraid of it, 
 and not of continuing to deceive ? You must 
 have gone far in the habit before you could 
 come to this. You surely want now to turn 
 back : you ought to find comfort in the thought 
 of standing entirely undisguised in the sight of 
 all men. Just blame and just contempt ought 
 to be sweet to you, if, bowed down under 
 them, you may once more draw the breath of 
 an honest man. Don't, I beseech you, try to
 
 THE DOUBLE LOSS. 295 
 
 hide behind a barrier of lies any more : come 
 manfully and take your punishment, and be 
 taught by it. Some time, yon will call this a 
 fortunate hour, this hour of bitter disgrace. 
 I believe it is the most fortunate hour you have 
 seen these many years. I hope, that, in the 
 good providence of God, it is meant to save 
 you from terror and despair in that awful time 
 when the secrets of all hearts must be re- 
 vealed, and when many for shame will call 
 upon the rocks to fall upon them and hide 
 them. Surely, surely, you would not, if you 
 could, go on with all this sin hidden and 
 unrebuked till then." 
 
 Those were words spoke in season, words 
 that reached Cyril's reason and moral sense, 
 and led him out of the confusion and darkness 
 with which his mind was overwhelmed. He 
 was silent a few moments : and then he hastily 
 seized his manuscript essay, that lay under 
 some papers upon the table ; and, reaching 
 from a shelf the printed copy of Mr. Elton's 
 oration, he put them into the professor's hand. 
 
 " Sir," he said with white lips and trembling
 
 296 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 voice, " there are the proofs of my guilt, if you 
 want any other than what you have heard. I 
 copied the oration almost verbatim, Avith very 
 slight additions and alterations." 
 
 The professor took the papers ; and, his 
 indignation disarmed by this confession, he 
 could almost have shed tears for grief and 
 compassion. 
 
 " Mr. Rivers," he said, " I can not express 
 my sorrow and surprise at what you have done. 
 It is my duty to lay these papers before the 
 faculty ; and probably, in simple justice to your 
 classmates and the public, the story will be 
 made known to them also. But you have 
 heretofore borne a good character, and you 
 have many friends here. Is there nothing I 
 can state to extenuate your deed ? Was there 
 any extraordinary temptation which should be 
 mentioned with the sin ? " 
 
 " No," answered Cyril, much agitated, 
 " nothing that furnished me the shadow of an 
 excuse. I could not write as easily as usual ; 
 and then this pamphlet came in my way, and I 
 used it without a scruple. That was all."
 
 THE DOUBLE LOSS. 297 
 
 There was a sorrowful silence in the room. 
 The professor at last rose to go. " We will not 
 keep you from going to your father," he said. 
 " The action of the faculty in this matter will 
 be communicated to you." 
 
 But the stranger extended his hand to Cyril 
 as he went. " Our first meeting," he said, 
 " has been a painful one ; but surely, by God's 
 blessing, I shall find when I meet you again, 
 whether in this world or the next, that its 
 result has been joyful. Only turn to your 
 Father in repentance, and ask him to make it 
 so. That will save you so much suffering ! " 
 
 They left Cyril too much overcome by the 
 suddenness of the blow to realize all that had 
 occurred. He felt no such acute mortification 
 as might have been expected ; for he seemed 
 half stunned. He could think only vaguely : a 
 sense of unreality dulled his emotions. He 
 understood that all was gone now that he had 
 enjoyed and hoped and acted for here at 
 college ; but he seemed to find himself resigned 
 to that, as one wearied out in struggling is glad 
 to be forced to sink down when strength fails.
 
 298 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 He kept whispering to himself, with a levity 
 that was almost like that by which an insane 
 person will show his uneasy misery, " It is all 
 over with me ! ah, well, it is all over with 
 me!" 
 
 He felt only anxious to get away. He 
 hurried his things into his portmanteau, and 
 hastened off as if for his life, haunted by the 
 feeling that he fled to hide himself from a storm 
 of reprobation that followed fast after him. 
 
 He hurried down to the dark depQt, confused 
 and dreary, and it seemed ominous of such 
 places as all the rest of his clouded existence 
 must be spent in. He even likened the dark- 
 ness and the smoke and din, and the hard- 
 faced, hurrying, selfish men that pushed by 
 him, to the atmosphere and the companions he 
 might find in that awful world for which he 
 thought he had been deliberately trying to 
 make his character fit. 
 
 As he entered the train, two of his class- 
 mates, going the same road for a distance, 
 hailed him, delighted at the prospect of his 
 companionship ; but he shrank away from them
 
 THE DOUBLE LOSS. 299 
 
 as though they and he could by no means come 
 together as companions any more. He could 
 not realize that they had not yet learned all, 
 he seemed to himself so thoroughly exposed and 
 condemned. He passed to a remote corner of 
 the train without answering them a word. 
 
 As the train rushed on through the night, 
 Cyril's mind ran faster among gloomy thoughts. 
 A feeling of the strangeness of his situation 
 impressed him. How wonderfully soon he had 
 become accustomed to disgrace ! He seemed 
 to have borne it all his life instead of a few 
 short hours. And yet how new the story 
 would be to others ! to Tom, to the class- 
 mates who had so lately called him an honor to 
 their number, to Miss Kerlie, and all the gay 
 friends who had smiled admiration upon him 
 only this evening. It seemed impossible that 
 he could be the same brilliant and favored 
 Cyril Rivers they had known, he who 
 seemed now to be old in wretchedness, to have 
 lived long ashamed and confounded, to have 
 borne always a name that was a by-word and 
 a reproach. And yet the change had befallen 
 only a few short hours ago.
 
 300 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 And then the stranger had called it " a for- 
 tunate hour " that took him from that brilliant 
 life to this. How strange that was ! Cyril 
 had seemed to believe the word when it was 
 spoken. How could that have been ? If he 
 could only understand the thought again ! 
 " A fortunate hour " ! How the words puzzled 
 him ! He had had ingenuity enough once to 
 understand paradoxes ; but this seemed to 
 escape his comprehension, he was now so dull 
 and bewildered. 
 
 And then he fell to wondering if, with his 
 old reputation, his old power had gone too, 
 the intellect he once possessed ; if he was to be 
 always the confused, cowed creature he was 
 now, and should never again be able to find 
 either talent or acquirement to help him climb 
 back to rank with other men. How strange 
 
 O 
 
 and how ominous was that loss of ability which 
 had tempted him to copy Mr. Elton's speech ! 
 The thought of it now filled him with despair. 
 He remembered, when he read that fatal essay, 
 he had called himself the equal in intellect of 
 its writer. Ah, what a vain boast it was ! He
 
 THE DOUBLE LOSS. 301 
 
 knew better now. Cyril Rivers, this poor fool 
 taken in his own folly, could never be a man 
 like that, never, never ! a man so noble 
 and successful ; a man whose riches of wisdom, 
 and fullness of life, overflowed in gifts of bless- 
 ing wherever he went. 
 
 Yet this man had not looked upon Cyril with 
 utter scorn : he had spoken kindly and hope- 
 fully, and he had called that " a fortunate 
 hour." Ah ! Cyril thought if he could only 
 catch the clew to the meaning of those words ! 
 
 With such vague, wandering thoughts, Cyril 
 struggled through the three hours of his night- 
 journey ; rousing himself, as if waking from a 
 dull nightmare, when the train reached the 
 station. The walk through the town to his 
 house still further dispelled the bewilderment 
 into which he had fallen : and, as he neared 
 home, he forgot the new aspect life wore to 
 him ; forgot the new character he bore in the 
 world, to whose strangeness he was trying to 
 submit himself; and remembered nothing but 
 his father's state. A torturing anxiety urged 
 on his steps.
 
 302 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Dark as it still was, he saw the door open as 
 lie drew near the house, as though anxious eyes 
 had been watching for him. His sister came 
 down to the gate to meet him. " O Cyril ! " 
 she said, " we are so glad you've come ! We 
 wanted to send for you before ; but he would 
 not let us, though we feared he might not live 
 to see you. O Cyril! he is dying! father is 
 dying!" 
 
 Her cry had a pleading tone, as though she 
 begged for her brother's help in a trouble so 
 awful ; but he could not answer her even by 
 taking her hand in his own. 
 
 He followed her into the house. Some of 
 his father's parishioners were there, talking 
 together hi low tones, anxious to be of service 
 to the family of their beloved minister. One 
 and another reached out a hand of sympathy to 
 Cyril as he passed among them ; and they were 
 full of compassion when they saw his altered 
 looks. Alas ! that kind feeling toward the 
 young man was changed to indignation by the 
 close of another day. 
 
 Cyril was led directly to the chamber of the
 
 THE DOUBLE LOSS. 303 
 
 dying man. There lay the father who had 
 labored his life away for his children ; whose 
 faithful love had never failed to find a way to 
 grant his son every reasonable wish, every 
 needful good ; who had loved him too much, 
 perhaps, set his hopes too fondly upon the 
 boy's promise and success. 
 
 It appeared that he would not live to see 
 those hopes cast down. His eye was dim, and 
 his face sunken ; yet it brightened when he 
 turned it toward his son's : and his wasted 
 hands had yet strength to move themselves to 
 meet Cyril's grasp. " My son, my dear son ! " 
 he cried fondly. 
 
 And, at those words, a flood of love and sor- 
 row swelled in Cyril's soul, and swept away its 
 darkness and confusion. He saw the truth 
 concerning his sin. He forgot the hush in the 
 chamber of death, every thing but the long- 
 ing for forgiveness before his father should go 
 hence to return never more. He fell upon his 
 knees by the bedside, crying in anguish, " O 
 father ! I can not be called your son : I am 
 not worthy. I have sinned against you. O 
 father, father ! "
 
 304 THE STOEY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 The cry ended in terrible weeping ; so vio- 
 lent, that, in alarm for the dying man, Cyril's 
 mother tried to lead him away. But his father 
 motioned her back. The peace in which he 
 had put off all cares, and had lain waiting for 
 death during these last few hours, was not to 
 be broken. He was too far withdrawn from 
 the world for any of its agitations to shake him 
 now. But his fatherly love was still unfailing. 
 He roused himself from the lethargy of death 
 once more, to offer help in his child's need. 
 
 " What is it, my child ? " he asked. 
 
 " O father ! it is too late to tell it all now ; 
 but I have done so wrong ! " 
 
 " But there's the atonement, my child. 
 Whatever you have done, there is the atone- 
 ment. I am thinking of that." And then his 
 voice sank to a whisper, and he seemed talking 
 to himself. " He will suffer," he said : " we 
 must all suffer when we have sinned. But that 
 is nothing if we are saved from the sin at last, 
 nothing, nothing. When we have washed 
 our robes, and made them white in the blood 
 of the Lamb, we shall come out of great trib- 
 ulation into perfect peace."
 
 THE DOUBLE LOSS. 305 
 
 He fell into insensibility ; while Cyril, re- 
 pressing his sobs, fixed his gaze upon his father's 
 face, and held his hand, as if comfort and wis- 
 dom were dying with him. The morning had 
 hardly dawned when the good man passed 
 away. In the same night, Cyril was bereft of 
 his good name and made fatherless.
 
 306 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE FALLEN TREE. 
 
 " Upright men shall be astonished at this, and the innocent shall 
 etir up himself against the hypocrite." 
 
 'HERE was wonder and regret 
 throughout Eaton that day. At 
 every breakfast-table, the first reader 
 of the morning paper broke his silent 
 perusal with an exclamation of sur- 
 prise, and startled the whole family with the 
 news one short, grave paragraph contained. 
 You guess what that news was. A consulta- 
 tion among the various members of the faculty 
 at the close of the exhibition had resulted in 
 sending to the office of the morning journal 
 this statement, signed by the president : 
 
 " It is my duty to inform the public that the 
 essay spoken by Cyril E. Rivers at the junior 
 exhibition, this evening, was not his own.
 
 THE FALLEN TREE. 307 
 
 "With the exception of some trifling additions 
 and alterations, it was stolen by Mr. Rivers 
 from the printed copy of an oration spoken by 
 Mr. Edward Elton, during his senior year in 
 college, twenty years ago. The speech was at 
 once recognized by him, and the fraud has since 
 been confessed. Since it was committed upon 
 the public, it is our painful duty to make the 
 discovery public also." 
 
 Imagine how this story came to Cyril's many 
 friends. There was no refusing to believe it, 
 since it came over the .president's honored name. 
 Miss Kerlie and all the gay companions of 
 many happy hours read it, and were exceed- 
 ingly shocked and grieved. The superintend- 
 ent and teachers of the Sunday school read it 
 with the utmost consternation. When they 
 met, they looked at each other in a kind of 
 terror, and spoke of what had happened in a 
 low, frightened tone. Who could tell the mis- 
 chief, they thought, if the scholars who had 
 trusted and loved Cyril so much should learn 
 the story ? They were old enough to read the 
 daily news : it could scarcely help coming to
 
 308 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 their knowledge. Who, again, could make 
 them believe that truth and goodness really 
 existed, when they had been once so deceived ? 
 In Cyril's class, the story, as it became known, 
 produced a profound sensation. A portion of 
 his disgrace seemed to rest upon all. Well 
 might it be so with some who had laughed with 
 him over lesser frauds. It was right that they 
 should suffer in his punishment. But ashamed 
 and grieved as they were, strange to say, even 
 among those best acquainted with Cyril's char- 
 acter and ways, the general expression was of 
 wonder. " How could he do it ? " was the 
 constantly-repeated exclamation. " How dared 
 he do a thing so bold, to take such a risk for so 
 small a gain, and when he must have foreseen 
 how fatal would be the consequences in case of 
 discovery? How could he have been so un- 
 wise ? " Those who were best acquainted with 
 what had gone before could not understand the 
 riddle of his folly. They could not connect 
 consequences with causes, and see that petty 
 deceiving, though sanctioned by general usage, 
 nevertheless had destroyed the moral sense of
 
 THE FALLEN TREE. 309 
 
 one who practiced it, till he had fallen into 
 greater sin, and greater risk of punishment and 
 disgrace, without knowing his position. Vanity 
 is never wise nor scrupulous. There is no 
 need to search for weighty and desperate mo- 
 tives for the rash deeds of one leading a life away 
 from God. A little temptation will draw such 
 a one into great and dangerous sin, while his 
 eyes seem hlinded to its greatness and its dan- 
 ger. 
 
 But, where all were sorrow-stricken, there 
 was one who seemed well-nigh heart-broken 
 over. Cyril's downfall. It was Tom Radclon, 
 who all that day sat in his room in grief that 
 refused to be comforted. He had, of late, 
 learned so much of Cyril, that he could not 
 feel the surprise that others expressed ; but, in 
 deep dejection, he groaned aloud for sorrow 
 and remorse. Sometimes he would insanely 
 defend Cyril, vowing the whole thing to have 
 no more foundation than in the suspicions of 
 the malicious professors; sometimes he would 
 desperately try to whiten his sin, alleging that 
 many others had done things as bad, and no
 
 310 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 outcry been made ; or showing how Cyril had 
 been distracted by troubles ; bringing to excuse 
 him the very argument Cyril had used for 
 himself. Then he would begin upbraiding him- 
 self for having urged his friend into wrong 
 practices ; for having been selfish, never help- 
 ful and kind, careful to try and keep his friend 
 out of trouble, a self-reproach that those 
 who heard it, and who knew the character and 
 the former relations of the two, were amazed 
 to think that it should ever have suggested 
 itself to Tom's mind. But though he had, at 
 first, looked up to Cyril, and depended much 
 upon him, of late they seemed to have changed 
 places somewhat. Cyril had been downcast 
 and dejected, and had teen forced to ask for 
 the help that Tom could give ; while he had 
 been trying to learn to depend upon himself, 
 when Cyril used to assist him. And, no mat- 
 ter how grateful a man's disposition may be, 
 he can not love those from whom he receives 
 as tenderly as those to whom he gives. Tom 
 was grieved for Cyril as an older brother 
 would have been ; and his grief revealed to
 
 THE FALLEN TREE. 311 
 
 him his share of the responsibility of Cyril's 
 sin. The shock, too, with which he heard told 
 of another the same thing which he had him- 
 self done, opened to him a new view of his own 
 wickedness and unworthiness before God and 
 man. He was as angry with himself as grieved 
 for Cyril. He declared that he ought to 
 stand in Cyril's place, bear the same punish- 
 ment, the same reproaches, the same disgrace. 
 But in all such talk there was no comfort, only 
 the more grief. He could not throw off the 
 discontent and remorse that possessed him. 
 He paced up and down, groaning at the bitter- 
 ness of the thoughts in his mind, and finding 
 no relief anywhere. 
 
 But what he suffered to-day for Cyril was 
 to be augmented to-morrow. This morning's 
 sensation was not the only one the name and 
 conduct of Cyril Rivers was to make in Eaton. 
 
 Among the readers who saw that fatal 
 paragraph in the morning paper was the melo- 
 deon manufacturer. He read it with some 
 little curiosity at first, but without any emotion. 
 It did not surprise him ; for he regarded
 
 312 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 students generally with disgust. He considered 
 them as some species of imperfectly-tamed wild 
 beast, brought to mind occasionally as a mis- 
 chievous nuisance, when there was a riot of 
 their making in the streets, or he heard some 
 story of gas-lamps broken, and gates carried 
 off in their wanton sport. This account of 
 Cyril's fraud matched very well with what he 
 was always hearing of them. That was his 
 only mental comment, until he looked once 
 more at the name, perhaps with some cautious 
 idea of storing it away in his remembrance. 
 
 It had a curiously familiar sound. " Cyril 
 Rivers," he read. " Where have I heard that 
 name before ? It can't be that I've got that 
 name on my books. Now I think of it, who 
 was it bought that melodeon for the Bethel 
 Sunday School ? He certainly gave a name 
 something like that ; but, of course, it can not 
 be the same. Such men are not generally 
 connected with Sunday schools." 
 
 But Mr. Harmoner got straight up from his 
 breakfast-table, and went to the shop to turn 
 over his books in search of that name. He
 
 THE MELODEOX MERCHANT.
 
 THE FALLEN TREE. 313 
 
 came upon it with a feeling of indignation and 
 fear. There it stood, just as in the paper, 
 Cyril E. Rivers ; and the address that followed 
 made it certain that it was the name of a 
 student. 
 
 " Now," Mr. Harmoner anxiously thought, 
 " I'll be bound, there's an imposition here. 
 The Sunday school! A likely story they'd 
 send a man like that to do their business for 
 'em. At any rate, with only that name for 
 security, I've got no security at all. Here's 
 something I must look into this very morning." 
 
 As speedily as possible, he wrote out his bill, 
 and proceeded in search of his suspicious 
 debtor. His alarm began to grow serious 
 when Cyril's landlady informed him that her 
 boarder had left for home the evening before. 
 
 Mr. Harmoner at once proceeded in search 
 of the superintendent, Mr. Keep. 
 
 Mr. Keep was sorrowfully thinking of Cyril ; 
 thinking, now that the blind leader had fallen 
 into the ditch, what he should do for the follow- 
 ers ; how he should repair the injury to those 
 poor, ignorant, sorely-tempted lads, who had
 
 314 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 begun to believe in right, because one they 
 loved and trusted seemed to believe. Perhaps 
 the story might not reach them ; but, if it did, 
 how could it be set before them as subject for 
 sorrow and warning, instead of an incitement 
 to unbelief and scoffing ? While he was think- 
 ing of these things, Mr. Harmoner came in 
 search of him. 
 
 " I believe, sir," he said, as Mr. Keep asked 
 him to be seated, " that you are the superin- 
 tendent of the Bethel-mission School." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said Mr. Keep. 
 
 " Was there a Mr. Rivers connected with 
 your school, whose name I see in the paper 
 to-day as that of a dishonest man ? " 
 
 " There was," said Mr. Keep. " We were, 
 among others, deceived by his apparently fair 
 character." 
 
 " Well, sir," said Mr. Harmoner, "perhaps 
 I need not have been troubled ; but, you see, 
 he purchased a melodeon from our place for 
 the school, and I've only his name for security. 
 I thought, after what I learned about him 
 to-day, that I would just like to speak with
 
 THE FALLEN TREE. 315 
 
 some of the rest of you about the bill. Not 
 that I feel at all uneasy at having trusted the 
 school ; but I should like to feel that the 
 responsibility was not entirely his." 
 
 Imagine Mr. Keep's sorrow as he gathered 
 the meaning of this ! " Sir," he said, " do 
 you mean to say that Mr. Rivers did not pay 
 you for that melodeon ? " 
 
 " He did not," said the merchant. " He said 
 the school had some little difficulty in raising 
 the money ; but that three or four weeks 
 would enable them to make payment. I had, . 
 of course, no distrust in letting him have the 
 instrument." 
 
 " But the money was in his hands," said Mr. 
 Keep. " It is a rule of ours never to go in 
 debt for any such extra expense." 
 
 " Then," said the merchant angrily, " the 
 scamp has stolen it ! I never saw a penny of 
 it." 
 
 Mr. Keep, dismayed at this new develop- 
 ment, tried to allay the merchant's alarm for 
 his debt by promising to bring the matter 
 before the other officers of the school, and
 
 316 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 either to have the instrument returned, or the 
 money raised to pay for it the second time. 
 The school, he thought, would have to be 
 responsible for the- fraud of its officer ; and that 
 it should hold property unpaid for was contrary 
 to one of the main articles of its constitution. 
 
 He earnestly begged the man not to let the 
 matter become public ; but his injunctions 
 were little regarded. Cyril Rivers was noth- 
 ing to Mr. Harmoner ; and he was indignant, 
 and, besides, had the important feeling of pos- 
 sessing a new development to relate of the 
 story which was the topic of the day through- 
 out the town. He did not anticipate that 
 there could be any harm in telling, in a confi- 
 dential way, that which occupied his mind, to 
 the next friend he met upon the street. It 
 was eagerly listened to, and quickly repeated. 
 Alas ! how strange is the interest with which 
 a story of weakness and sin is heard and 
 started! not the sorrowful and sympathetic 
 interest, but the curious, the amused, the 
 scoffing interest. How rarely found, even 
 among Christians, is the man who will refrain
 
 THE FALLEN TREE. 317 
 
 from taking up a reproach against bis neigh- 
 bor ! 
 
 The story had not gone through three nar- 
 rations before it came as a rich prize into the 
 hands of the item gatherer for the local paper, 
 and was by him rapidly put into shape for the 
 public edification. 
 
 The next morning journal contained, there- 
 fore, a conspicuous paragraph, headed, " Further 
 Developments : the student Cyril E. Rivers a 
 swindler as well as a plagiarist." And then 
 was narrated, with many a moral comment and 
 sage reflection, Cyril's apparently cool theft from 
 the Sunday school, of course without any of 
 those palliations of the sin, if charity may call 
 them palliations, of which I have told you. The 
 nine-days' wonder had developed a new phase, 
 and taken a new lease of life ; and, if there is 
 always a satisfaction in the discovery of delin- 
 quency, how much more when it is delinquency 
 in high places, in the church and Sunday 
 school, in the most refined social circle,' in a 
 minister's son, or a professor's promising pro- 
 tege ! Even in hearts naturally benevolent,
 
 318 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 how fast the first feeling of pain and surprise 
 excited by such a story will wear off in the 
 satisfaction of abundant food for gossip ! 
 
 But we quickly become used to new events. 
 Before the close of that day even, most of 
 those who knew Cyril had become accustomed 
 to his downfall. It was to them almost like 
 a fact expected. The shadow that had fallen 
 upon him seemed to stretch backward over 
 all the years of their acquaintance with him ; 
 so that they seemed never to have known him 
 as any thing but weak, vain, and deceitful. 
 The tree once down, we soon become accus- 
 tomed to contemplate it as fallen, fit only to 
 be removed for the burning. We soon forget 
 to compare it sorrowfully with the one that 
 lately towered upright in the sunshine, the- 
 glory of the garden. We walk about it as it 
 lies prone, and examine the hidden decay that 
 has laid it low ; mark how rudely its roots 
 have been broken from their hold, and have 
 torn up the earth that nourished them ; notice 
 the strength of the great limbs that are crushed 
 and broken ; and coolly watch the fresh green
 
 THE FALLEN TREE. 319 
 
 leaves of youth and spring-time that were so 
 beautiful high in the sunshine, withering away 
 in the dust. It is a pity that the tree fell ; 
 but, since we can not set it up again for admi- 
 ration, take it away, and let us seek another to 
 put in its place. The shock is over now, and 
 there is neither time nor thought to spare in 
 long regrets. 
 
 All who really loved Cyril were doubly 
 wounded by this second story, so unnecessarily 
 made public. The superintendent would have 
 given worlds if he could have kept the matter 
 hushed, for Cyril's sake as well as the school's. 
 Wherever he went, he was overwhelmed with 
 questions as to the truth. His regret and mor- 
 tification were unspeakable. 
 
 As for Tom, I must begin another chapter 
 to tell you about him.
 
 320 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 
 
 "So Jonathan arose, in fierce auger; for he was grieved for 
 David." 
 
 " But God is the judge : he putteth down one and setteth 
 up another." 
 
 " Hold thou me up, and I shall he safe." 
 
 TOLD you how Tom spent the day 
 in his room, groaning with alternate 
 sorrow and remorse ; as restless in 
 this trouble, which no outlay of 
 money could smooth away, as a 
 wounded lion. 
 
 But when, the next morning, this second 
 part of the story came to his ears, he aston- 
 ished his companions with a show of anger and 
 distress for which they could not, for some 
 time, discover any sufficient cause. He 
 stormed at the Sunday-school managers and 
 the melodeon merchant, calling them liars and
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 321 
 
 defamers ; asserting that there was not one 
 word of truth in the story, and that he had 
 authority for declaring it. Then he railed at 
 himself, crying with angry tones that he had 
 been a careless, ungrateful friend, fit to have 
 no man's honor trusted to his care again ; 
 cursing himself for his forgetfulness ; saying, 
 that he might have foreseen all this yesterday, 
 and that, if he had only had a little sense, he 
 might have saved it all to his poor friend. 
 
 His companions, utterly confounded at his 
 almost tragic grief, began to understand, at 
 last, that Cyril must have left the debt that 
 never should have been incurred, in Tom's 
 care ; for he vowed that he would make it 
 right now at any rate, and that somebody 
 should pay for this wanton defamation of 
 Cyril's character. "Because a fellow had 
 copied part of his essay from an old musty 
 paper," thus raved Tom, " need he be charged 
 with every other crime in the decalogue 
 also?" 
 
 With that, he seized his hat, declaring that 
 
 he would go and call John Seelye to account. 
 21
 
 322 THE STORY OF CTR1L RIVERS. 
 
 " He belonged to the Sunday school, and he 
 had taken Cyril over there," Tom said ; " and 
 if he had had the least friendly feeling, he 
 would have prevented this story from getting 
 abroad." 
 
 Tom strode away with a fierce scowl upon 
 his brow, but with his head hanging, and eyes 
 downcast, a man thoroughly mortified, and 
 though defiant, yet ashamed to meet the world, 
 before which he, quite as much as Cyril, 
 seemed to have been publicly disgraced. 
 
 But the walk in the open air quieted his 
 excitement ; and he soon began to view things 
 more sanely. He did not, as his friends had 
 feared he would, break in upon John Seelye 
 with violent invective and reproach, but ap- 
 peared at the door of his room in a humble and 
 reasonable mood. 
 
 Finding that John knew no more than he 
 how the story had become public, he was still 
 further mollified. He explained to John what 
 he knew of the transaction ; how Cyril had 
 told him, that, pressed by debt, he had 
 taken the Sunday-school money, hoping indefi-
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 323 
 
 nitely to find some way out of the trouble 
 before the merchant should urge his obligation ; 
 and how, when Cyril was obliged to go away, 
 he had intrusted the whole matter to his, 
 Tom's, friendship. And then Tom added, 
 with many self-reproaches, that, when he 
 might have reflected yesterday morning that 
 one story would quickly start the other, he had 
 taken no measure to prevent it, as he should 
 
 
 
 have done. 
 
 But now Tom was going to pay the debt at 
 any risk or inconvenience ; and he wanted it 
 made known as publicly as the fraud had been, 
 that Cyril did not appropriate the money with 
 any intention to cheat. Almost his last care 
 had been to secure its payment ; and his 
 trouble about it had been one cause, no doubt, 
 of his failure to write his essay. 
 
 As Tom told this story, he saw that John 
 readily comprehended it, and seized as eagerly 
 upon what small excuse there was in it for 
 Cyril as did Tom himself. He found this 
 man, so strict in his zeal for honesty, not, as he 
 had fancied, full of severity for Cyril, and
 
 324 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 rrarly to deepen his disgrace, but as much 
 grieved for him as was Tom's own heart ; per- 
 haps even more deeply grieved, because John 
 was better able to estimate the calamity of the 
 loss of principle and reputation. He showed a 
 heart full of sympathy both for Cyril and for 
 Tom ; a heart that Tom perceived might be 
 relied on for counsel and kindness in this the 
 sorest trouble of his life. 
 
 John went with him to the superintendent 
 to repeat the story, and to secure that it 
 should be published as an explanation by Mr. 
 Keep, in such form as should be most just to 
 Cyril ; the statement being added, that his 
 debt to the school was already discharged : 
 for Tom was determined to pay for the melo- 
 deon that very day, if, as he said, he sold all 
 his furniture and wardrobe. No doubt, he 
 could have raised the money in some other 
 way ; but he did not want the debt put off 
 with borrowed means any more : and there 
 was a sort of satisfaction to him in stripping 
 his room of some of its superfluities for Cyril's 
 sake, of the costly clock that adorned the
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 325 
 
 mantel-piece, the patent study-chair he never 
 used, and the heavily-framed pictures, of ques- 
 tionable taste, that, he said, were so tiresome, 
 always staring at him. But when he had dis- 
 posed of them, and paid over the money, with 
 severe reproaches, to th merchant, for the need- 
 less harm he had done, and when he had carried 
 with his own hands to the newspaper office the 
 note Mr. Keep had written to set Cyril's conduct 
 in a more favorable light, he was still unsatisfied. 
 Restless, he bent his steps back to John's room. 
 Sitting there, he told him how he had done all 
 he could think of for Cyril. " But," said he, 
 leaning his head upon his hands with a weary 
 sigh, " it's all of very little use." 
 
 And after a few moments he gave an uneasy 
 jerk upon his chair, and broke forth again": 
 " I've been about to-day, and nobody called me 
 a liar and a cheat, or turned away from me, as 
 if I was not fit to be spoken to, the way they 
 would treat Rivers, to judge from their talk 
 about him. And I say," his voice rising 
 angrily, u that it's unjust ! I have done things 
 as wicked and mean and underhanded as ever
 
 B'2Q THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 he did. If he sold lies as as she said, I 
 bought and used 'em. I've cheated ten times 
 where he has once, and never winced, or 
 troubled myself about it afterwards. Nobody 
 puts me in the newspapers ; but I say I deserve 
 the same as he ! " 
 
 " I believe it," said John, not reproachfully, 
 but sadly and earnestly. 
 
 The answer rather startled Tom, it was so 
 different from any response the same com- 
 plaints had brought from other men ; but it 
 satisfied him better than any other could have 
 done. He was longing to take his place in the 
 light of truth. 
 
 " But they do not give me the same," he 
 complained. " They do not publish me. The 
 fellows do not get out of my way as if I was a 
 pickpocket, or believe that I could steal chil- 
 dren's money! And if I should go to the 
 faculty, and make a confession, they'd shut the 
 punishment off me, just because I had con- 
 fessed. And there are others, too : if they 
 haven't gone quite so far as Rivers, they've 
 gone the same way, and taught him to think
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 327 
 
 little of the things that helped him do this. I 
 don't want them to have the like punishment, 
 and I'm not saying I want it myself: I 
 couldn't bear it. I don't see how poor Rivers 
 will. Only I don't see how it's just, that he 
 should be the one to take it for us all. His 
 doing was' partly caused by ours, and why 
 should he have all the penalty ? If the rest 
 of us go free, why not he, too? It's hard: I 
 say, it's hard ! " 
 
 And Tom covering his face with his hands, 
 tears of vexation stole through his fingers. 
 
 John looked at him, and was moved with 
 compassionating wonder at his blindness of 
 mind. His eyes kindled, and his expression 
 grew doubly earnest. 
 
 " Raddon," said he slowly, " do you believe 
 in Almighty God ?" 
 
 The question, and the tone in which it was 
 put, struck impressively upon Tom's mind. 
 He raised his head, and looked at John with 
 solemnity and humility in his expression. 
 
 " Yes, I do," he answered. Not his early 
 associations with paganism, not the ignorance
 
 328 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 in which his conscience had been left, not even 
 familiarity with sin and habitual indulgence 
 therein, could kill the faith implanted in his 
 heart in an Almighty God, a faith degen- 
 erated now almost into superstition, but ready, 
 let us hope, to rise again some time to religion. 
 " Then," said John, " just believe it is he 
 who is dealing with your life, and Rivers's, and 
 the lives of every one of us. Do not sit down 
 and chafe yourself because what you call an 
 unlucky fortune has distributed an uneven 
 reward. Do not suppose that you and he and 
 the rest went on sinning unheeded, some more 
 and some less (God only can tell which), till 
 one of you, by an untoward chance only, 
 pulled down upon himself the punishment you 
 all might claim. Who sent that man here to 
 discover Rivers just on that night, of all others 
 in the world? Who kept you from covering 
 that fraud about the melodeon till it was too 
 late ? I say it was God's will, and not a 
 chance. And you are not to call it hard or 
 unjust, either," continued John. "Do you 
 think God loved him any the less because he
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 329 
 
 interfered to stop him in such a course ? We 
 get only the warning from the fall ; but, be- 
 cause he was suddenly laid hold upon with a 
 heavy hand, we are not to say that we are 
 treated more kindly than he. I tell you, God 
 is taking care of him, rescuing him from his 
 weakness in the best and surest possible way. 
 And, if hard measures were necessary, you are 
 not to complain of them, however you may be 
 sorry, but just to believe that they are all 
 right and kind. You are not to excuse Rivers's 
 guilt to yourself or to him either. Offer him 
 as much sympathy and help as you Can, but 
 not a word of exculpation. It will be a peril- 
 ous thing for you both if you do. 
 
 " And another thing," continued John ; 
 " don't you lose the lesson God sends to you in 
 his punishment, while you are complaining that 
 you do not share it as much as you deserve. 
 See here ! Raddon, if you will learn that, so as 
 to be all your life the better for it, you seem to 
 lighten Rivers's guilt, to make him before all 
 the world an instrument of good to you, instead 
 of harm; and, besides, you will redeem the
 
 330 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 injury you and he have done each other by 
 doing good to other men." 
 
 John spoke with enthusiasm. 
 
 " But how can I learn the lesson ? " cried 
 Tom, excited by his words. " I tell you, to go 
 up hill is impossible for me. I've told no man 
 till now ; but I've tried these three months to 
 get a little nearer to being an honest man, and 
 I make nothing of it but failure. I hate myself. 
 I don't see why I was born such a miserable 
 dog. It's as bad with others, too, for all that I 
 can see. Nobody can make any thing of him- 
 self bu to be just as good or as bad as he was 
 born. How can I be better ? It isn't in me ? " 
 
 " No," said John earnestly ; " but it is in the 
 grace of God for you. You said you believed 
 in God, and, by his works, you must know he 
 is a kind God. Do you suppose, then, he 
 would let you come into the world, inheriting 
 so much weakness and wickedness in your 
 character, and then just leave you alone to 
 manage with it as you can ? Instead of that, 
 he has been beside you every moment of your 
 life from your very cradle. It was he who put
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 331 
 
 into your heart those wishes you speak of about 
 being a better man : how else did they ever 
 come there ? You failed, because you did not 
 recognize the hand that led you, and grasp it 
 tight. He has hurt and humbled you in your 
 friend's disgrace, -with a plainer view of your 
 own sinfulness and ill desert. By that very 
 thing, you might know he is at your right hand 
 now." 
 
 Tom was looking at him with an earnest 
 gaze. " You are not a visionary man, Seelye," 
 he said ; " and, as I live, I believe that what 
 you say is true. Tell me, what then ? " 
 
 " Why, then," said John, " he loves you, 
 and is waiting to put into you the virtue you 
 have not. And your duty is to expect the gift, 
 to pray to him for it, to keep turning to him 
 in thought and supplication, from moment to 
 moment, and from hour to hour, in dread lest 
 you should neglect to receive what he holds out 
 to you. If you will do that, I tell you the 
 truth when I tell you, you will find in yourself 
 not an occasional weak wish, but a constant 
 will and an increasing strength to flee from
 
 332 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 worldly and debasing pleasures, and to follow 
 after righteousness and godliness. You can 
 never do it alone ; but, since you are so dissat- 
 isfied with yourself, just try this plan ; just 
 believe what I say." 
 
 There had always been something child-like 
 about Tom, confiding, generous, impulsive 
 traits, the best and most attractive part of his 
 disposition. By the grace of God, he was 
 willing now, in his discouragement, to receive 
 with child-like humility and trust this offered 
 hope. 
 
 " I do believe you," he said stoutly, his 
 rough face brightening with earnest hope : " I 
 do believe the God that made me can help me. 
 If I got my life from him, it must be as you 
 say, that he will give me virtue enough with it 
 to make it worth having. Only only" 
 (O Cyril, hear what is his stumbling-block!) 
 " did not Rivers believe in him ? He said he 
 did, you know. He kept the Sabbath, and 
 went to the communion. Why was he left, 
 then ? " 
 
 " Is he left ? " asked John. " Why he lias
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 333 
 
 4 
 
 been especially dealt with, and the reason 
 why he got so far away, was because he trusted 
 in himself, the very opposite reason from that 
 by which you go to God. I tell you, neither 
 Sabbaths nor Sunday schools, nor yet the sacra- 
 ment, can save a man who by them all is not 
 trying to keep near to God, to receive his 
 grace, and be kept in obedience to his will. 
 The man who lives in self-seeking and self-trust 
 need not expect all the ordinances and means 
 of grace to keep him safe. His eyes must be 
 opened to see his need, and to see his Saviour, 
 before he can be helped ; and it seems to me that 
 is what God means to do for Rivers by all this 
 humiliation and sorrow. But, then, Raddon, 
 don't think of those who profess obedience and 
 do not act it. There are good people enough 
 to prove God's grace, people far too good for 
 any natural disposition to have made them so. 
 Just look about you and think of them. Oh, I 
 wish I could tell you how happy it makes me to 
 see them ! They are a living assurance of the 
 promises. ' I will put my laws in their hearts,' 
 God says ; ' I will write them upon their minds.'
 
 334 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 ' We will come unto him, and make our abode 
 with him.' ' Him that overcometh will I make 
 a pillar in the temple of my God, and he shall 
 go no more out, and I will write upon him the 
 name of my God.' And a<*ain: 'He can not 
 sm, because he is born of G-od." 1 Oh, what 
 promises ! and to see people that are living 
 witnesses of their truth ! I thank God for the 
 sight every day ; but I can never thank him 
 enough." 
 
 John's face shone as he spoke. He was now 
 confiding to Tom the loftiest and strongest 
 hopes of his life, and all the joy he felt in the 
 certainty of their achievement. 
 
 Those good people he had in mind were 
 some, no doubt, who were raised far above him 
 by age and position, men such as that pure- 
 minded and pious scholar, that gentle and cul- 
 tured Christian, who presided over the univer- 
 sity ; or as some of its professors, to whom all 
 sciences were only studies of the thoughts of 
 God, expressed in his works ; men clothed with 
 holiness and humility, knowledge and love. 
 They walked as saints to John's eyes, and
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 335 
 
 he thanked God for his hope in following 
 after. 
 
 But Tom, as he answered, sighing, " Yes, 
 there are good people, almost as good as the 
 angels, I believe," had in his mind no bent, 
 wrinkled, gray-beard figure, but the vision of 
 one young and fair, and gayly clad, with face 
 that often gleamed with mirth, but, as he 
 fancied it now, looked upon him with bright, 
 startled, indignant eyes, as it had rebuked him 
 when he had once foolishly boasted of sinful 
 conduct. 
 
 Ah, well ! God has different instruments for 
 different hearts ; and a visible beauty and grace 
 must express to some what eyes more enlight- 
 ened can discern in the spirit under any ancient, 
 worn, and faded garb. But the ligktest-hearted 
 maiden that ever won a man to thoughts of a 
 nobler, truer life, is none the less God's instru- 
 ment than the grave teachers whom long years 
 of grace and experience have trained to do his 
 work. 
 
 Notwithstanding new resolves, and all John's 
 counsels and encouragements, Tom went away
 
 336 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 with some fear and trembling still in his heart, 
 lest the new light he seemed to have found 
 should again vanish in darkness, as good 
 thoughts had passed away from his mind before. 
 As he walked on in this mood, he passed the 
 college bookstore, a room in one of the build- 
 
 O 7 
 
 ings, where second-hand text-books of every 
 description were for sale. It came into his 
 mind that he would buy a Bible ; for he had 
 none. Think of that, dear reader ! in this 
 land, where a Bible is the child's first well- 
 remembered birthday gift, his Sunday-school 
 prize, the parting token of love and tender 
 anxiety his mother puts into his hand when he 
 leaves home, her dying legacy, in this land 
 where the gift of a Bible is the commonest 
 expression of Christian charity, or the priceless 
 sign of fondest affection. I wonder if there is 
 one of you who has been so friendless that he 
 was suffered to grow to manhood in the 
 need of purchasing for himself the book of God ! 
 But poor Tom had no Bible. If he had had a 
 mother, even the most irreligious, I can not 
 think it would have been so. But his father
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT. 337 
 
 had almost forgotten that such a book existed : 
 it was the last thing he would have thought of as 
 a necessary item of his boy's outfit when he sent 
 him from home ; and Tom, obliged to have one 
 
 * ' O 
 
 in school, had left it behind him when he came 
 to college, and never discovered his poverty 
 without it till this minute. 
 
 He went into the bookstore and asked for 
 one. The request seemed to surprise the 
 student who waited there. It was such an 
 unusual one, he was not sure he could comply 
 with it. He climbed upon a stool, and hunted 
 among the books upon the high shelves, and in 
 the back corners, until at last he brought forth 
 a much-abused volume, bound in faded red 
 morocco, with broken clasps. Its strong bind- 
 ing held it all together; but idle hands, 
 inconceivably wanton, had cut and defaced the 
 cover, so that it was very shabby. It might 
 have been, nevertheless, a mother's or a sister's 
 gift, which some foolish boy had cast away with 
 other books, less precious, and profited by as 
 little as this. Tom cared little about its looks : 
 it was a Bible, that was the chief thing to 
 
 22
 
 338 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 him at present. He paid for it at once, and 
 hastened away. 
 
 Seated in his room, he opened the book, to 
 meet, where his eyes first full upon the page, 
 such words as these : 
 
 " I stretch forth my hands unto thee : my 
 soul thirsteth after thee as a thirsty land." 
 
 He paused, his whole heart shaken by the 
 importunate cry with which it echoed those 
 words. But that cry was expressed with yet 
 more craving in the next verse. 
 
 " Hear me speedily, O Lord ! my spirit 
 faileth : hide not thy face from me, lest I be 
 like to them that go down into the pit." 
 
 Yes, this was the true voice of the longing 
 and the fear he had brought from John 
 Seelye's ; and from out of it, as did the song, 
 so did Torn's soul rise to trembling trust. 
 
 " Cause me to hear thy loving-kindness in 
 the morning ; for in thee do I trust : cause me 
 to know the way in which I should walk ; for I 
 lift up my soul unto thee. 
 
 " Deliver me, O Lord, from mine enemies : 
 I flee unto thee to hide me."
 
 TOM'S GRIEF AND HIS COMFORT, 339 
 
 It was the refuge that John had showed, 
 that Tom had accepted. He was praying the 
 words that he read with passionate earnestness. 
 
 " Teach me to do thy will, for -thou art my 
 God ; thy spirit is good ; lead me into the land 
 of uprightness. 
 
 " Quicken me, O Lord, for thy name's sake ; 
 for thy righteousness' sake bring my soul out of 
 trouble." 
 
 Do you not think the God of his life 
 answered that prayer ? Indeed it was so. The 
 God who had made and watched over him, at 
 this hour took him by the hand to lead him out 
 of evil habits, out of ignorance, out of a nature 
 
 ' O * 
 
 full of depravity, through many falls and con- 
 flicts, into the land of uprightness. 
 
 I have something more to say of Tom ; but 
 I can not say it here. I must go back now to 
 the main personage of my story.
 
 340 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 
 
 " Our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom we have now received the 
 atonement." 
 
 E left Cyril in a bitter hour, or- 
 phaned and disgraced. He was at 
 first bewildered by the suddenness 
 of the blows that had fallen upon 
 him ; but when the morning dawned, 
 by the light of the bright spring sunshine, by 
 the sound of the voices and footsteps of busy 
 people in the streets, by the knowledge that 
 penetrated into the hushed and darkened house 
 of the world outside, awakened again to its 
 every-day work and hopes and pleasures, the 
 force of contrast made real to Cyril his 
 changed position. The truth of all that had 
 happened became clear to him ; and his situa- 
 tion, in consequence, was made plain. Friends
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 341 
 
 and acquaintances were removed from him by 
 the knowledge of his deed whispered from one 
 to another. Admiration was turned into con- 
 tempt, favor into indignation. Classmates 
 must be ashamed of his name, a name whose 
 disgrace was irretrievable, the name of one 
 called a gentleman, and convicted of dishonor ; 
 of one professedly a Chi'istian, yet found guilty 
 of deliberate and audacious deceit. Oh, what 
 shame and bitterness were in his soul, as by the 
 morning light he saw these things ! 
 
 But there was a still greater distress for him 
 in the remembrance of his relations to his 
 mother and sisters. They were weeping in 
 sore grief over their beloved ; and in addition, 
 even in these first hours of mourning, prospec- 
 tive poverty and loss of home intruded their 
 terrifying faces. But Cyril knew of a blow to 
 fall upon those burdened hearts, in comparison 
 with which present sufferings would seem light ; 
 and it was to come through him, the very one 
 chiefly looked to for strength and solace. 
 Judge whether he was yet so hardened in sel- 
 fishness that he could look forward to this, and
 
 342 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 not feel his heart sink in misery, enduring a 
 punishment that seemed to him greater than 
 he could bear. 
 
 Whichever way he turned, there was dark- 
 ness in the future. He had cut himself off 
 from hope. Opportunity had gone with friends 
 and reputation. The church must discard him 
 with the college. Where could he even earn 
 bread for himself and those dependent upon 
 him, when the story of his disgrace had gone 
 abroad, and branded him as a forger and de- 
 ceiver ? 
 
 Bowed down that day in such wretchedness 
 as he could not have conceived of before, there 
 was no friend from whom he could ask the re- 
 lief of sympathy. His mother did not know 
 all ; no one else here knew. Ah, if his father 
 could have lived a little longer ! if Cyril could 
 have called him back far enough from the mists 
 of death to make him understand all ! Cyril 
 had longed to make him comprehend in that 
 dying hour; -but, if he had succeeded, he 
 thought his father would not have listened so 
 peacefully, so calmly ; would have had more
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 343 
 
 words to say than those few, " There is the 
 atonement, my son ! " as if in those he had 
 said all that was needful, all that human love 
 and wisdom could say. 
 
 But, however the case might be, those words 
 were all that Cyril had of hope or help in his 
 trouble ; and his mind clung to them in its des- 
 peration, as^to a rope from which confused seas 
 of misery tried to beat him away, a rope 
 tliat hung slack under his grasp, that fell from 
 out of clouds and darkness, and that he could 
 not yet find any hope to make him believe could 
 draw him to the shore of safety. Yet it was 
 all he had to lay hold of ; and he clung to it, 
 though it seemed to go down with him under 
 the waves. 
 
 " The atonement ! " Cyril had heard of it 
 from very childhood. Once he fancied that 
 he understood its import ; but now the words 
 seemed unmeaning. Another had suffered for 
 his sins ; that would save him everlasting pun- 
 ishment, it was said, if he would put trust in 
 the deed. But would it save his mother the 
 anguish and shame, his sisters the bitter weep-
 
 344 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 ing, his sins were going to give them ? 
 Would it save the shadow thrown upon his 
 father's memory, because of having brought up 
 such a son? Would it save to himself the 
 opportunities lost, the blighted life, the friends 
 and pleasures gone? Would it save to his 
 classmates the shaken faith in truth and man- 
 hood, and in the power of the Christianity he 
 professed ? Would it save his scholars in the 
 Sunday school the awful lesson that all he had 
 taught in the name of truth was but a winning 
 tale, yet idle and meaningless, justly scoffed at 
 by the profane as a fabric of hypocrisy and 
 folly? Would it save the Church of Christ 
 the reproach it must suffer from the open sin 
 of one brought up in its bosom, and enrolled 
 among its members? How could that be 
 called an atonement for his sins which did not, 
 save the hurt they had done ? 
 
 These thoughts wearied and baffled him 
 when he would find comfort. Yet again and 
 again, in the midst of his confusion and per- 
 plexity, the words, " But there is the atonement, 
 my son," and the assured and satisfied tone in
 
 TEE LESSON LEARNED. 345 
 
 which they were spoken, would sound in his 
 ears, as if some instinct in his soul, or, perhaps, 
 the unrecognized Comforter there, knew that 
 their simple repetition had enough in it to 
 'refute all that the whispers of the Tempter 
 could suggest. And so Cyril could not but 
 revolve those words in his thoughts, till, what 
 with desperate longing, and what with remem- 
 brances of good and faithful teaching, and 
 what with being beaten down to the ground in 
 humiliation, he found his way to some knowl- 
 edge of their truth. 
 
 Will you bear with me while I detail some 
 of the workings of his mind upon this subject ? 
 They may unfold to us, as to him, something 
 good and precious to remember. 
 
 He found a clew that led him some steps 
 toward the light, in this thought first of all: 
 this church that he had injured it was not 
 merely a collection of men agreed upon certain 
 beliefs, theories beneficial to mankind, that 
 they were anxious to propagate ; it was, in- 
 stead, the cause of God upon earth. In 
 offending against the church, then, it was God
 
 346 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 against whom he had offended, God, its 
 founder and its life. Those Sunday-school 
 children they were not merely individuals 
 whom Cyril had thrown back toward ignorance 
 and sin, the causes of their suffering: they 
 were God's children, it was their Father who 
 was wounded by their hurt. The widow and 
 the fatherless, too, were his special care, and it 
 was God who was grieved in the increase of 
 their grief. And when Cyril had maltreated 
 himself, wasted his time and talents, injured 
 his soul, and thrown away his good name, it 
 was against his Maker and Master still that he 
 had sinned. All other pleas, his own and the 
 world's, were swallowed up in this one, God's. 
 Every other accuser, angry or sorrowful, faded 
 away into the background, and left to Cyril's 
 perception only the vision of this great One, 
 God. It filled his mind : there was no room 
 in his imagination for any thing else. There 
 seemed no room in the world. Upon his right 
 hand and his left hand, before him and behind 
 him, was God; he was surrounded .by God. 
 What could he do, overtaken by this convic-
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 347 
 
 tion, but to cry out, " Against Thee, and Thee 
 only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy 
 sight!" 
 
 Yes, in God's sight ! There was no other 
 eye to be taken account of by Cyril now. 
 How strange that he had once chiefly dreaded 
 that parents and friends should know his deed, 
 when all along he had been in God's sight ! 
 The thought of that one gaze overwhelmed 
 him now : whither could he flee from it ? 
 where hide himself from its penetration ? 
 
 Oh ! he remembered now how the stranger 
 who had found him out had spoken of an hour 
 when he might call to the rocks to fall upon 
 him and hide him. This was not the hour, 
 though he was so conscious, in his sinful ness, 
 of God's sight ; why not ? why not ? 
 
 His groping mind caught another clew. 
 Why? because there was the atonement, the 
 atonement still available ! Against God he 
 had sinned, and to God had the atonement 
 been made. That it must be sufficient, the 
 instinctive spring with which his heart leaped 
 to seize the - thought was witness enough if he
 
 348 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 had not his father's testimony and that of the 
 Scriptures. In the joy and relief of this, 
 other hopeful thoughts crowded fast into his 
 mind. God must have meant the name of 
 that sacrifice to have its full meaning, and by 
 it, then, in some way, might Cyril not hope 
 his sins would be nullified, those heavy sins, 
 that had weighed him down with anguish? 
 He, indeed, could see no way to rectify their 
 consequences to himself or others ; but, since 
 they were atoned for, might he not believe 
 God had found a way ? that there was a good 
 He had set over against the evil that van- 
 quished it ; nay, that could bring goodness out 
 of it, as flowers spring out of a bloody field, 
 the same good that, as was sung long, long 
 ago, could bring praise out of the wrath of 
 man ? 
 
 Cyril had only a glimpse of all that was in 
 this thought at that hour, though he saw 
 enough to comfort him ; but, through many 
 after-years, this view of the atonement served 
 him as a subject to ponder over with unspeaka- 
 ble wonder and thankfulness. He gradually
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 349 
 
 gained a clearer understanding of it. He saw 
 Christ to be far, far more in benefit to his 
 church than the harm of all the sins of men 
 against it. He saw Christ found in despair by 
 transgressors to be sweeter than their hard way 
 down into the depths had been bitter. He saw 
 Christ the Comforter, found in sorrow, more 
 precious than the grief was hard. All his life 
 long he rejoiced to watch the workings of this 
 wonderful alchemy, which brings glory out of 
 shame, strength out of weakness, joy out of 
 sorrow, and which shall prevail more and more 
 upon the earth till the day of atoning is 
 past, because sin has dominion no more. 
 
 Cyril had need of all the spiritual comfort and 
 strength he could obtain, in the bitter trials, 
 that, after that first day, came thick and fast 
 upon him. His father had not been laid in the 
 grave before the altered looks toward himself 
 of the people who came to the house showed 
 that his story had reached his native town. 
 And at last one of his father's deacons cuine 
 for a private interview with him. He had a 
 painful duty to undertake, he said, both as
 
 350 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 Cyril's brother church-member, and as one 
 who loved him for his father's sake. He had 
 brought both stories that had been published in 
 Eaton, and he must hear the truth of them 
 from Cyril's own lips. Cyril told it as well as 
 he could for agitation and shame. He pleaded 
 no apology, and asked no leniency : that would 
 have seemed bold, in view of the enormity of 
 what he had done. He did not urge his peni- 
 tence : that was too cheap and easy a thing to 
 weigh against his sin. He told the simple 
 story, submitting to the result. That story, 
 and the sight of the culprit, moved the old 
 man, between wonder, indignation, and grief, 
 to great excitement, which must find expres- 
 sion. He did not understand Cyril's not mak- 
 ing any effort at self-extenuation, and the quiet- 
 ness of his utter humiliation. He could not 
 help admonishing the young man whom God 
 had already so effectually warned; he must 
 remind him how the blow would fall upon his 
 mother : as if no agony had already been suf- 
 fered at that thought ! he must point out again 
 all the sad consequences : as if they had been
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 351 
 
 out of the sinner's mind one moment through 
 the last two days ! 
 
 He was a good and kind man ; but such a 
 flagrant offense as this had never come within 
 the sphere of his action before, and he knew 
 not how to treat it. It appeared to him that 
 Gyril never could be reproved enough. He 
 was the only worldly dependence of his mother 
 and sisters ; and such a revelation of the 
 worthlessness of his character at this time was 
 terrible. No wonder the old man was exceed- 
 ingly agitated and distressed ! He talked long 
 to poor Cyril of the guilt and disgrace he had 
 incurred, without perceiving how forcibly it 
 had already been impressed upon him, or 
 without suggesting to him any possibility of his 
 ever being able to retrieve the wrongs he had 
 committed. 
 
 But Cyril saw now, that, whatever compas- 
 sion might be felt in the parish toward his 
 mother, the story could not long be kept from 
 her. And though he knew the suffering it 
 must cause her, yet he longed to have her know 
 it, longed for her forgiveness and counsel. It
 
 352 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 only remained to choose the time to tell her. 
 It seemed to him, that, should he wait till after 
 his father's funeral, in the dreary time of the 
 first utter loneliness in the house, and when 
 preparations for removal, and plans for the sad 
 future, must be undertaken, the blow would 
 fall more heavily than now. Beside his father's 
 coffin, where the peaceful face would seem to 
 repeat to them both the comfort that had satis- 
 fied the good man in death, only there Cyril 
 felt that he could tell his mother. And there 
 he did tell her, turning ever and anon toward 
 that still face for help to bear the sight of 
 the pain, the grief, the agitation he read upon 
 hers, as he traced the story from the commence- 
 ment of his college course down to the last 
 shameful details. She could not hide from 
 him the dismay and sorrow with which they 
 overwhelmed her, though she had thought her 
 heart dulled by the first grief to all events that 
 could follow. But she had drawn near to 
 God, and was keeping there for help to bear 
 her loss, and so was ready to reach out her 
 hand for his support in this new affliction.
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 353 
 
 And, moreover, she saw how great the peril of 
 Cyril's soul had been, and that God had been 
 dealing with him by his providences and his 
 grace, so as to make him thoroughly humble 
 and repentant. She would have been no true 
 mother, if, in the midst of disappointed pride 
 and trust, she yet could not feel some thankful- 
 ness for his correction. 
 
 So she had no reproaches for him, only for- 
 giveness and sympathy and counsel. If it had 
 not been, afterward, for a new confidence 
 placed by her in him, and for her love and help 
 when all the world distrusted him, and met 
 him with coldness and rebuff, I know not how 
 he could have borne the troubles of those 
 shaded years of his entrance upon active life. 
 
 A day or two after his father's funeral, Cyril 
 received two letters from Eaton. One, in Tom 
 Raddon's peculiar handwriting and orthography, 
 written very earnestly and affectionately, told 
 the story of the writer's actions and emotions 
 since he parted from Cyril, and in what new 
 beliefs he had found comfort. It was full of 
 sympathy, and full of repentance ; and it 
 
 28
 
 354 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 touched Cyril not only by the unshaken love it 
 revealed, and by the simply-told story of all 
 Tom had done for him, but by the manner in 
 which it seemed to take for granted in him a 
 right state of feeling under all these troubles. 
 
 o o 
 
 Tom showed no more fear and distrust for him 
 than if he had never known him do wrong. 
 For this, and for all Tom's generosity, it seemed 
 to Cyril that he never could be grateful enough. 
 Very humbling thoughts came with the feeling. 
 He looked back to the hour when Tom had 
 first seized his half-unwilling hand, and vowed 
 to be his friend, and saw, that, all the way 
 from that time to this, the one he had secretly 
 looked down upon had played the noble part in 
 their companionship. Upon Tom's side, friend- 
 ship had been no false seeming, put on for con- 
 venience, or worn from indolence and good- 
 nature. He had been always faithful to the 
 extent of his knowledge, and had signally 
 proved the genuineness of his affection in these 
 dark hours at the last. 
 
 The other letter was from the college faculty, 
 dismissing Cyril from his connection with the
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 355 
 
 institution. He had expected that. He could 
 not, under any circumstances, have returned to 
 college ; but the little note might Avell revive a 
 long train of sorrowful reflections. It had 
 ended in this, then, that college career that 
 was begun with so many hopes ! The years 
 that were to have furnished him with power to 
 attain a high place in life had left him despoiled 
 of reputation, well-nigh crushed with disgrace. 
 The time and the place that were to have 
 witnessed the beginning of honors won had 
 known his name conspicuous only for shame. 
 
 But even while poor Cyril, with heavy heart, 
 and eyes dimmed with sorrowful tears, gazed 
 upon that note, there came to him a faint whisper 
 of comfort and peace. " Nevertheless," said this 
 voice, " it is not all lost. Since you have 
 turned to Him, God is so merciful, he will 
 redeem something for you out of what you have 
 so recklessly flung away. Here is a lesson 
 lie teaches you out of your college course, that 
 is better than all other learning without it : he 
 whom the Lord upholds alone is safe ; he who 
 has set the Lord always before him, whose eyes
 
 356 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 are ever toward the Lord, whose cry is unto him 
 evening and morning and at noon, he only 
 shall surely not be moved : the God whose atone- 
 ment can deliver thy soul from death is the only 
 Power whose wisdom can keep thy feet from 
 falling. God has brewed a bitter drink for you 
 out of the fruits of your folly ; but through his 
 goodness it is a wine of strength. The jewel 
 you lightly esteemed at first he has forced you 
 at last to stoop low, and painfully to find : but 
 it is humility and the fear of the Lord ; its gain 
 makes light the loss of laurels and renown. 
 He is so true and gracious, that he has done 
 better for you than you would ask. He will 
 make up all the wanton waste if you will be his 
 disciple, and henceforth seek to follow him as 
 faithfully, as watchfully, as he has followed you. 
 There is this still left for you, to thank him 
 with your life." 
 
 But Cyril's lesson was learned at a great cost ; 
 it was forced upon his heedless heart only after 
 severe and terrible punishment. May it not 
 answer in place of such sad personal experience, 
 experience whose teaching, alas ! is some-
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 357 
 
 times read all too late, to others as careless 
 and as confident as he? Of all who were 
 shocked at his fall, there were few of his com- 
 panions to trace its causes back to the slight 
 deceptions, the trifling indulgences in vanity, of 
 which others were as guilty as he. Yet noth- 
 ing is surer than the connection. If it had not 
 been for his familiarity with sin, he would 
 not have risked so boldly, and lost his honor. 
 Friends, we can none of us prophesy of our- 
 selves, or tell how far we shall be carried, when 
 we say, that, in little things, it matters not 
 whether we take the easy instead of the 
 upright way. When we are accustomed to 
 such reasoning, the sin to which there is any 
 temptation will always seem a little thing. Let 
 us rather ask God to fix in us the conviction 
 that no transgression is small. Then we shall 
 be first cleansed from secret faults, and so for 
 ever kept back from presumptuous sins. 
 
 What I might have put in a preface, a 
 few words about one of my reasons for writing 
 this story, it seems to me will be better un- 
 derstood here. It was partly suggested to me
 
 358 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS 
 
 by hearing some young persons talking lightly 
 of practices such as purchasing essays from a 
 ready writer, to read in the class, and the like, 
 although events very similar to those narrated 
 in the latter part of this story had but recently 
 shocked them, as well as the rest of the com- 
 munity. Not only had their careless eyes seen 
 no connection between the little deceits and 
 the great ones, biit so blunted had their moral 
 
 O ' 
 
 sense become by the prevalence of bad habits, 
 that in the former they scarcely seemed to see 
 any sin at all. But these cheating tricks of 
 boyish cunning that are so commonly practiced 
 in every school and college throughout the 
 land ; that the best-principled youth scarcely 
 lift their voices to condemn ; that parents and 
 guardians often wink at, or perhaps openly 
 laugh about and applaud ; and that teachers 
 vainly and half-despairingly strive to weed out, 
 are not of little account. The notions so 
 recklessly adopted at school are carried from 
 thence into business and political life. The 
 youth who cheats for the benefit of his class or 
 his division will cheat for his firm or his party
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 359 
 
 soon. The youth who begs or buys the ser- 
 vices of his classmate to help him to a station 
 he has not earned, will, before long, buy the 
 services of the forger and the counterfeiter, to 
 make him a millionnaire, or will buy lying ora- 
 tors and unprincipled voters to make him a 
 governor or a senator. And after the most 
 flagrant wickedness, the most utter meanness, 
 he and his coadjutors, called by the world re- 
 spectable men, defended with virtuous indigna- 
 tion from all attacks by their party organs, will 
 laugh together in their conclaves over the 
 smart wire-pulling, the cunning tricks, with the 
 same unconcern with which the schoolboys 
 among themselves boasted of the deception of 
 their tutor as a good joke. And all the while 
 our country's trade and government languish in 
 every part, from fraud and corruption, the un- 
 scrupulous selfishness of private citizens every- 
 where making rotten the foundations upon 
 which rests the welfare of the community. 
 
 The warning is not the remedy ; but there 
 is a remedy, and I point it out listen, young 
 people and children not to your teachers and
 
 3GO THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 parents, but to you. I have that faith in your 
 love of your country, and in your anxiety to be 
 a benefit to it, that I believe you will strive 
 after the safeguard yourselves. It is in the 
 fear of the Lord, which is clean, and in the 
 commandment of the Lord, which is pure. 
 There is One who desireth truth in the inward 
 parts, and who is of purer eyes than to behold 
 iniquity. Ask him to be continually with you, 
 to hold you by the right hand, to guide you 
 with his counsel, to create in you a clean heart, 
 and to renew a right spirit within you. Ask 
 him not to cast you away from his presence ; 
 not to take his Holy Spirit from you for an 
 hour, for a moment. And he will be gracious 
 to you, teach you his ways, and make you de- 
 lifjht to do his will. I can not continue Cyril's 
 history much farther, to show how what he 
 learned from his college course was still more 
 
 O 
 
 deeply impressed upon his mind by the trials of 
 the following years, by all the humiliations and 
 difficulties arising from his disgrace that beset 
 
 O G 
 
 him in the struggle to obtain a livelihood. His 
 mother moved to the nearest large town, to
 
 THE LESSON LEARNED. 361 
 
 support herself by taking boarders ; and his 
 sisters, by hard endeavor, found opportunity to 
 earn the scanty pay of teachers ; but, wher- 
 ever Cyril tried to obtain even the humblest 
 employment, the old story would waken preju- 
 dice against him. To -win back trust and his 
 good name, to get even the least opportunity to 
 do it, for a long time seemed well-nigh impos- 
 sible. Not only must he suffer in this himself, 
 but he must see his family suffer also. He 
 learned to be very meek and patient, very un- 
 selfish and thoughtful, while his trust in God 
 kept him from being utterly cowed and dis- 
 couraged, and a sense of his desert withheld him 
 
 O ' 
 
 from repining. The powers of his mind were 
 developed and matured by his combat with ad- 
 versity. He had an object in winning the vic- 
 tory, to make some recompense to the dear 
 friends he had so injured ; and he was success- 
 ful at last. He outlived the story of his dis- 
 grace, and gained respect and influence. But 
 all the days_ of his life he walked softly, carry- 
 ing a memory that admonished him, and that 
 kept his heart fixed in God's fear.
 
 362 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 I know my story is properly finished here ; 
 but I am going to add, as a sort of sequel to it, 
 a chapter about Tom, because the story of his 
 after-course seems to me so interesting. But I 
 can only sketch it very briefly.
 
 A LITTLE MORE ABOUT TOM. 363 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A LITTLE MORE ABOUT TOM. 
 
 " It is God that guideth me with strength, and maketh my way 
 perfect." 
 
 lu 
 
 HAT Tom had begun he had be- 
 gun in earnest. His heart was set 
 steadfastly toward a new life. As 
 frank and unashamed as he had 
 been in his ignorance and heathen- 
 ism, so was he in his new knowledge and en- 
 trance upon Christianity. He freely told his 
 companions what new thoughts and beliefs he 
 had ; and they watched him with astonishment, 
 yielding himself up with childlike docility to 
 his persuasions. Most of them considered him 
 under the effect of an excitement that would 
 soon pass away. But the victories he gained 
 over himself, the new manliness developed in 
 him by the workings of that Spirit to which he 
 had surrendered himself, were an undeniable
 
 364 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 reality. His mind seemed almost suddenly to 
 have developed and matured. In the hope of 
 usefulness, he began to judge concerning his 
 own welfare as no selfish wisdom could have 
 taught him to do. 
 
 One of his first acts was to go to Professor 
 M'Tafor, and confess how he had gained that 
 prize a whole year since, restoring the money, 
 and asking that the story might be made as 
 public as Cyril's disgrace had been. For the 
 sake of justice, this was reluctantly done in his 
 class, and among the competitors whom he had 
 cheated. But it was the case, as he had once 
 angrily declared it would be, that his genuine 
 repentance and his confession saved him from 
 reproach, and won him the free forgiveness of 
 teachers and classmates. Indeed, the kind feel- 
 ing toward him among the latter had pardoned 
 his half-suspected offense long ago. 
 
 It was a more daring matter to make the 
 same confession to his father, and to tell of 
 many other deceits and bad habits, of his con- 
 viction that he was incompetent to go on with 
 his class, and his desire to be allowed to go
 
 A LITTLE MORE ABOUT TOM. 365 
 
 back to the one below. The honest, sorrowful 
 letter in which all this was told, Tom, as he 
 sent it away, verily believed would withdraw 
 him from college at once, and set him at work 
 among Chinamen and sailors, to oversee the 
 lading and unlading of his father's ships under 
 the burning suns upon San-Francisco Bay. 
 
 But his father was a shrewd man, and, in 
 the midst of anger and disappointment, he dis- 
 covered at last the ring of manly earnestness 
 and sincerity in Tom's strange letter. And 
 Tom was his only son, and he could not yet 
 quite give up his long-cherished ambition with 
 regard to him. He cut down Tom's allowance, 
 for punishment, and sent him some angry 
 threats, but bade him, notwithstanding, go 
 into the class below, as he desired, and begin 
 again. 
 
 Tom set himself to the task with patience 
 and diligence. He had to struggle hard with 
 old habits and depraved tastes ; but the strug- 
 gle was not so long nor so doubtful as might 
 have been supposed. New affections springing 
 up cast the old into the shade, and, by degrees,
 
 866 , THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 withered their baneful life. The main features 
 of Tom's conversion were his sudden discovery 
 of God's reality and nearness, and his hope and 
 joyful confidence in that knowledge. His 
 heavenly Father was not far from him at any 
 time, and was able to bestow strength. Tom 
 must hourly press closer to him to receive it. 
 There was once one, who, in his first luimble 
 prayer, was answered, " To-day shalt thou be 
 with me in paradise." That man, indeed, was 
 then almost beyond the dominion of the prince 
 of this world, beyond the reach of temptation ; 
 yet the change that made him ready for para- 
 dise, his soul's reception of righteousness from 
 Christ, must have been an instantaneous 
 change. And when we have counted all our 
 hinderances, from foes within and foes without, 
 is there, then, sufficient reason to excuse our 
 slow, hardly apparent growth in grace ? Is not 
 the true cause found in our lingering unwilling- 
 ness to suffer the change to be put upon us ? 
 We hang back from self-surrender, and 
 think of our own watchfulness and self-govern- 
 ment as our hope of holiness. We would be
 
 A LITTLE MORE ABOUT TOM. 367 
 
 always remembering ourselves, instead of say- 
 ing, " Lord, remember me ! " We think of 
 keeping our hearts with all diligence, and for- 
 get that the diligence is vain which aims only 
 to keep them swept and garnished, and not to 
 have them full of Christ. To be with him in 
 paradise is to be perfectly safe ; and upon earth 
 to be much in communion with him, the fore- 
 taste of paradise, is our only security. If we 
 had a more continual consciousness of his 
 presence and help, we should not find the 
 advantage over sin so hardly and slowly won. 
 Such a consciousness was given to Torn ; and, 
 while he rejoiced in it, it was wonderful how 
 he was changed. 
 
 In the course of the two following years, 
 from the saddest of all sights, an indolent, 
 unreasoning, impulse-governed man, he be- 
 came thoughtful, patient, and unselfish, with 
 powers developed and under command, and 
 activities that were awake, and in earnest to 
 improve himself and the world ; and, at the end 
 of those two years, he had grown so refined in 
 manners, so brightened and improved in looks,
 
 368 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 and was so respected in reputation, that there 
 was no one of Mary Owens' friends to wonder 
 or regret when she promised him her hand. 
 
 Tom overcame his idle habits and natural 
 inaptitude for study, so as to graduate with a 
 very good appointment. And at that time his 
 father made the journey all the way from San 
 Francisco, to see his son for the first time upon 
 a public stage. The old man looked about 
 upon the new world of men and tilings in this 
 Eastern city, wise enough to acknowledge an 
 advanced civilization in it for all its plainness 
 and quietness, its want of wealth and commerce 
 and crowds ; and no words could express the 
 satisfaction and triumph with which he com- 
 pared his son with the cultivated men among 
 whom he found him, and perceived him able 
 to sustain the comparison. The success was 
 beyond all he had hoped. His Tom had not 
 become the pretentious, loud-voiced, unprin- 
 cipled demagogue that had been once the 
 father's idea of a politician, but something that 
 he could understand was better and more 
 effective, in proportion as it was rarer in public
 
 A LITTLE MORE ABOUT TOM. 369 
 
 life : a man soundly instructed, firmly principled, 
 with an enlightened will and an independent 
 judgment, "A man that can go alone ! " 
 said Mr. Raddon to himself with delight, " a 
 
 O ' 
 
 man that don't need to be boosted, and can't be 
 tricked ! " 
 
 But he never imagined how all this had 
 come about. He supposed it the result of his 
 own liberality and shrewdness in sending Tom 
 to college, together with the youth's natural 
 cleverness and goodness. He would have been 
 utterly astonished and unbelieving if it had 
 been told him that One had done more for his 
 child, out of love and infinite charity, than all 
 the teachers and the books that money could 
 provide ; and that, but for the intervention of 
 that One, Tom would in all probability have 
 come away from college to be only a shame and 
 disappointment, perhaps a drunkard, or an 
 indolent, vice-crippled wreck of manhood, in 
 whom neither threats nor promises could have 
 awakened again the feeblest impulse of energy 
 or ambition. So the old man went about boast- 
 ing, thanking his gods, his money and him- 
 
 24
 
 370 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 self, and never thought of the Giver of all, 
 who was so patient with his ignorance. 
 
 Nevertheless, there was something very 
 touching in the father's perfect pleasure, as he 
 sat in the commencement-hall, and listened to 
 Tom's speech. When it was through, and 
 Tom was speeded off the stage with the 
 customary round of applause from his friends, 
 the old man looked about, his face radiant with 
 pride and satisfaction, and actually bowed his 
 thanks to the people around him, as if the 
 tribute had been bestowed upon himself. He 
 was as proud of Tom's engagement, too, as of 
 his other achievements. Even old Ruel Rad- 
 don could believe that this young lady was one 
 not to be bought with money : so that Tom's 
 winning her such a genuine lady, educated, 
 refined, and pretty enough to be an earl's 
 daughter was in itself another proof of his 
 superiority. 
 
 You will understand that his father's visit 
 must have been a little trying to Tom in the 
 first flush of his triumph in his engagement and 
 his graduation. It can not be denied that the
 
 A LITTLE MORE ABOUT TOM. 871 
 
 old man's red face, the gaudy dress he had 
 provided himself, the ungrammatical and boast- 
 ful style of his conversation, and his constant 
 recourse to ardent spirits for stimulus, disturbed 
 Tom in presenting his father among new 
 friends of such a different style. But Tom was 
 too warm-hearted and honest to let any such 
 false shame trouble him much ; and his feelings 
 of annoyance were soon forgotten in serious 
 regret, because his father was so far from him 
 in the things that made the light and fullness of 
 his life. Tom began to see the work that lay 
 before him more plainly now. He had resolved 
 to study law, and begin practicing in his native 
 place in accordance with the old plan. But 
 how differently now he looked upon that plan ! 
 It was no more to his view an idler's scheme 
 for cheating and bribing his way into office, 
 pandering to corrupt party interests : it was to 
 be an honest man's path of industrious service 
 to God and his generation. In a city full of 
 men like his father, and worse, he was to advo- 
 cate truth and right, in spite of all inducements 
 to knavery ; publicly and privately, he was to
 
 372 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 stand up for principle in the fear of God, and 
 to promote; with all his influence, the causes of 
 justice and purity and religion. 
 
 It was not till he had fairly entered upon his 
 work, that his father found out all the diversity 
 of intentions between them. The old man's 
 first idea was to push Tom into public favor by 
 every means, fair and foul. To his dismay, he 
 found an insuperable obstacle to such proceed- 
 ings in Tom himself. A man who would not 
 say what he did not believe ; who would not 
 slander either a party or an individual for his 
 own advancement ; a man who would not 
 advocate a wrong measure, however popular ; a 
 man who fought the dearest vices of the com- 
 munity, with law or without law, stirring up by 
 his merciful endeavors the wrath and hatred of 
 all its profligates ; a man who would be always 
 remembering the very pariahs of the city, vex- 
 ing himself for their wrongs, degrading himself 
 with openly-expressed concern for despised 
 foreigners, their ignorance and abuse, judge 
 of old Ruel Raddon's dismay, when he began 
 to find such a man in his own son !
 
 A LITTLE MORE ABOUT TOM. 373 
 
 He had long known of Tom's religion, and 
 had acquiesced in it as something, that, in some 
 indefinite way, as Greek or Latin or poetry had 
 done, had tended to make him a gentleman, 
 something that was a part of the intelligence 
 and refinement that made him superior. As a 
 thing of that description, he had no objection 
 to it ; but when he discovered it to be some- 
 thing that led the young man to sacrifice profit 
 to principle, when he saw Tom, for its sake, 
 running counter to current opinion, exciting 
 hostile remark, growing decidedly unpopular, 
 the old man began to be very angry. He 
 tried in vain persuasions and remonstrances, 
 threats and sneers. The young man was 
 sorely tried; but he persisted in his course. 
 For months at a time, his father's anger 
 would be so hot against him, that he could not 
 speak peaceably to him, and often he would not 
 speak to him at all. But these quarrels were 
 kept close between them. It was a curious 
 thing that the father's jealousy for his son's 
 welfare was yet so strong, that, while he re- 
 proached him at home, he upheld him abroad,
 
 374 THE STORY OF CYRIL RIVERS. 
 
 always defended him with shrewdness and 
 vehemence. 
 
 It was years before the difference, so trying 
 to the souls of both, was ended. But at last 
 old Mr. Raddon, finding opposition useless, 
 began in his secret soul to acknowledge the 
 beauty and the goodness of his son's course. 
 His thoughts toward him grew lenient. By 
 degrees, Tom's opinions were tolerated, then 
 approved, at last adopted with unbounded 
 admiration. Moreover, the old man found 
 himself not alone in this change. Tom had 
 made progress in winning the hearts and en- 
 lightening the consciences of other men, by his 
 integrity, his earnestness, and his benevolence. 
 He had made the party and the public opinion 
 to sustain him. His father lived to see him an 
 honored and successful man, and, leaning upon 
 his son in perfect trust as he went down toward 
 the dark valley of the shadow of death, was 
 willing at last to receive the faith that had 
 been to Tom salvation. 
 
 Thus I have briefly sketched Tom's career, 
 to show how it was affected by what befell him
 
 A LITTLE MORE ABOUT TOM. 375 
 
 in college. Ah ! if there were more as fortu- 
 nate as he in the years of seedtime. But I will 
 not write that sigh despondingly ; for the free 
 grace and loving-kindness of God are ever 
 abundant, and his providence is favorable to 
 every soul. And then the Church of God, I 
 know, has always that cause of thankfulness 
 for you, young people, with which St. Paul 
 rejoiced over Timothy: "T thank Grod, that, 
 without ceasing, I have remembrance of ihee in 
 my prayers night and day"
 
 Warren and JBlakeske, Publishers, Boston. 
 
 THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL COMMENTARY. 
 
 THE NEW TESTAMENT; 
 
 WITH NOTES, PICTORIAL ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 AND REFERENCES. 
 
 BY REV. ISRAEL P. WARREN, D. D. 
 
 The first volume of this work embraces the Gospels and Acts of the Apos- 
 tles. It is designed to be a concise yet complete commentary, exhibiting 
 the results of the best and most recent biblical scholarship, as given by 
 Alford, Lange, Olshausen, Tholuck, Trench, Stuart, Robinson, Hackett, 
 and others. The notes are both explanatory and practical 
 
 The text of the Gospels in divided into sections numbered to correspond 
 to a Chronological Harmony given in tabular form. An Alphabetical In- 
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 without the aid of a Concordance. 
 
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 Galilee and the surrounding Region : 3. The missionary journeys of the 
 apostle Paul. 
 
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 POOL OF SI LOAM. 
 
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 THE SICK MAN LET DOWN THROUGH THE ROOF. 
 
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 A 000 055 494 9
 
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