>->2A 
 
 J) 
 
 
 
 
 ' ifc 
 
 '--,.,^ 
 
 ■ — , ^^^^^ 
 
 
 -i-^^ 
 
 p 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^., 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 .^ '■ --' 
 
 ..^^^ 
 
 — ^^— ^~ — ^ 
 
 _ 
 
 -I^ 
 
 '^^ ^ - , 
 
 
 ~) 
 
 5 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 =^ 
 
 
 ~> i-> ~> 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 brarjo of tl^e theological ^eminarjp 
 
 PRINCETON • NEW JERSEY 
 
 •(i^j> 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 Itrs. IfinthroT) !•[. Aldrich''-*' 
 
 
 > >3»3 
 
 ^»^ 
 

 
 
 
 
 33^ 
 
 ?^ 
 
 
 r3L>> 
 
 :> 3 
 
 
 
 
 df3>o3 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^7» 
 
 
N 
 
Cfjarles kCliffortJ. 
 
 
 p 11. 
 
CHAELES GlIFMmf^i 
 
 "\> 
 
 OR, 
 
 Xi 
 
 JUL U 1951 
 
 ^ 
 
 mi it«!^ 
 
 THE CHILDREN. AT RR^ER BANK. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES W. ALEXANDER, D.D. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION, 
 1122 Chestnut Stkeet. 
 
Entered according lo Act of Congress, in tlie year l'S34tby 
 Pavl Beck, Jr., Treasurer, in irusi for llie American Sunaav 
 chool Union, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of thf 
 Eistern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 RivERBANK is the name of an es« 
 tate upon the Delaware, not many 
 miles from Philadelphia. There is 
 a high bank rising many feet above 
 the stream, but level at the top, and 
 covered with green fields and woods. 
 This bank has in the midst of it a 
 larfTe and eleo^ant house, with a 
 smooth lawn on each side. Not far 
 from the house is a grove of old oaks, 
 and when you drive up from the 
 road through the lawn, there is a 
 1* 5 
 
6 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 double row of elms. This makes a 
 shaded walk on both sides of the 
 carriage road, and the high elms join 
 their branches at the top, so as to 
 make it seem like an arch. 
 
 Riverbank was so called by its 
 owner, because it was situated upon 
 the very bank of the river Dela- 
 ware. The gardens reach almost to 
 the water's edge, and there are steps 
 by which you may go down. At the 
 bottom of these steps there are two 
 small houses, which are touched by 
 the water. One of these is for bath- 
 incj, and the other is a boat house 
 From the high ground above you 
 can see many miles up and down the 
 river ; and in the fine summer even- 
 ino^s it is charming^ to sit under the 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 7 
 
 noble elm-trees, and look at the 
 farms, and woods, and hills along 
 the river. 
 
 Riverbank was for many years 
 owned by a gentleman named Cap- 
 tain Clifford. He was rich, and had 
 chosen this pleasant spot to have a 
 quiet place where he might bring up 
 his little family. The house was 
 well furnished with every thing that 
 was necessary to comfort. Besides 
 the fine parlours and chambers, there 
 was a large room in the centre of the 
 house, w^hich was called the lihrary. 
 There were shelves around the walls, 
 which were filled with the most ele- 
 gant books. In the middle of the 
 X'joxn. were tables, on which lay the 
 \i\\q<d books of maps and pictures, 
 
8 CHARLES CLIFFORF. 
 
 which it was not proper to put on 
 the shelves. 
 
 At one end or the library there 
 was a door opening into a smaller 
 room, which was called the captain's 
 study. Here he read and wrote al- 
 most every morning. And here he 
 used to have his little children, 
 when he wished to teach them. 
 
 Mrs. Cliiford was a pious and sen 
 sible woman. She was kind to all 
 the family, and benevolent towards 
 the poor. Her greatest pleasure 
 was in teaching her little children, 
 Charles and Mary. But Mrs. Clif- 
 ford was much alflicted. All her 
 husband's riches, and all their fine 
 houses and grounds, could not keep 
 away distress She was feeble and 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 9 
 
 Sickly, and there was hardly any day 
 m which she did not suffer much 
 pain. 
 
 But she knew that not a hair ol 
 her head could fall without the per 
 mission of God. She was, therefore, 
 cheerful and happy in the midst of 
 all her trials. Indeed, her pious 
 friends used to say, that the more 
 her strength failed, the more her 
 joys seemed to increase. And it is 
 certain that she was so far from mur- 
 murinor at what the Lord chose to 
 lay upon her, that she often used to 
 say that she thanked God for her 
 afflictions. 
 
 When little Charles Clifford saw 
 his dear mother so pale and weak, it 
 used to m'ike him very sorry. The 
 
10 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 affectionate little boy did not kno\^ 
 tnat his mother was oroinsr into a con 
 sumption ; but he plainly perceived 
 that something was the matter. Lit- 
 tle boys often take notice of more 
 than those who are around them sup- 
 pose. Charles could see that hi? 
 mother never walked out, and that 
 she could scarcely get into the car- 
 riage witiiout being helped. And 
 then she lay upon the bed almost all 
 day, and was often taking medicines, 
 and had a cough which seemed to 
 give her great pain. 
 
 On a tine spring morning, Mrs. 
 Clifford was sitting by a window, 
 where she could look out and see the 
 boats upon the river. She had her 
 Bible lying by her, in w^hich she had 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 11 
 
 been reading. While she sat there, 
 Charles came running in with a 
 nosegay of flowers, and said, '^ Dear 
 mother, see what a beautiful bunch 
 of flowers I have got out of the 
 green-house. Will you not come 
 and walk in the garden ? O, do, 
 mother ; the pinks are all coming up 
 in the border, and every thing is so 
 beautiful." 
 
 '' My dear little boy," said Mrs. 
 Clifford, " I am unable to walk out 
 with you ; I am too weak." 
 
 Charles. But, mother, what makes 
 you so weak ? Are you unwell ? 
 
 Mrs. Clifford. Yes, Charles, I am 
 rery unwell. I do not think I shah 
 ever walk out any more. 
 
 Charles. 0, y 3s, mother, I hope 
 
12 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 you will walk out a great many 
 times. And when the new summer 
 house is finished, we will all go and 
 drink tea there ; and Mary says that 
 her doll is to have a new frock, and 
 to sit at the table. 
 
 Mrs. C. My son, do you try to 
 remember all the orood thino^s I have 
 been teaching you ? 
 
 Charles. Yes, mother, and I say 
 the little prayers you taught me, 
 and read in my little Bible every 
 day. 
 
 Mrs. C. I hope you will always 
 remember to do so, and never forget 
 what your mother has taught you. 
 I wish you and Mary to love God 
 above all things. Every day, since 
 you were born, I have prayed that 
 
CHAHLES CLIFFORD. 13 
 
 the Lord would bless you, and 
 make }"ou good children. 
 
 Charles. I wish to be a good boy, 
 and to be like the Lord Jesus Christ. 
 
 Mrs. C. But if I should go away, 
 and yon should not see me for a 
 great while, do you think you would 
 remember the orood thino^s I have 
 taught you ? 
 
 When Mrs. Clifford said this, the 
 tears began to come into her eyes ; 
 and little Charles drew very near to 
 her, and looked very sorrowful. He 
 then looked up into his mother's 
 face, and said, 
 
 " Dear mother, you are not going 
 away to leave me, — are you?" 
 
 M?'s. C. I cannot be always wdtli 
 
 you, my dear ; and when lam gone, 
 
 2 
 
14 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 von must remember how much T 
 have desired that you should be the 
 Lord's child. 
 
 Charles. Yes, I will, indeed ; but 
 where are you going, mother? 
 
 Mrs. C. You know, Charles, that 
 we cannot live in this world for- 
 ever. Some of these days we must 
 all die, and go to another world. 
 Do you know what death is? 
 
 Charles. O, yes ! I saw the 
 gardener's son, when he was dead. 
 He was almost as white as snow, 
 and when I put my hand upon his 
 %ce, I was afraid, because it was as 
 cold as marble. 
 
 Mrs. C. We must all die. My 
 little son must dio ; your father 
 must die, and / must die. But if 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 15 
 
 we believe in the Lord Jesus Ciirist, 
 we shall all meet ao^ain in heaven. 
 
 Charles. Yes, aunt Esther says 
 that there will be no sorrow or dis- 
 tress in heaven forever and ever. 
 
 Mrs. C. Before a great whilej 
 every one of us will be dead. Dur 
 bodies will be laid nnder the ground ; 
 but if we are the Lord's children, 
 our souls will be in heaven. 
 
 Charles. Mother, 1 do not like to 
 hear you talk so. I do not like to 
 think that you and my dear father 
 are to die. 
 
 M7's. C. I do not wish to distress 
 my little son, but you ought some- 
 times to think of these things. The 
 time will come when we must part 
 from one another for a little while. 
 
6 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 And I think it is likely that I shaL 
 go away first. 
 
 When Charles heard this, he 
 threw his arms around his mother's 
 neck, and wept as if his little heart 
 would break. And his mother wept 
 too, so that it was some time before 
 she could say any thing. At last 
 Charles said, 
 
 ^'0, my dear mother, now I 
 knovv w^hat you mean by going 
 away. You mean that you are 
 going away to heaven. O, what 
 shall I do! what shall I do ! I 
 will go and pray to the Lord to 
 make you well. We cannot do 
 without you. It would kill me, 1 
 am sure, if you were to die." 
 
 Mrs C. 'V\ ell, my child, we will 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. L7 
 
 not talk any more of this. Only I 
 hope you will neA^er forget that 
 your dear mother wished an(^ 
 prayed, above all things, that her 
 little son and dauo^hter mio^ht be 
 pious children. I am sure that the 
 Lord, who takes care of these 
 beautiful flowers, will take care of 
 my little children. Now wipe your 
 eyes, and let me kiss you, and then 
 you may go out to your sister, for 1 
 hear her calling you. 
 
 Charles kissed his mother, and 
 then wallced very soberly away to 
 meet his sister under the elms. But 
 he was so sorrowful that he could 
 not play. Little rosy-cheeked Mary 
 ran and skipped about the gravel- 
 waJk, like a lamb or a kid, she was 
 2^ 
 
IS CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 SO full of spirits. She wondered 
 what was the matter witk Charles, 
 and after she had found that he 
 would not play, she ran away from 
 him. Charles walked about very 
 sorrowfully under -the shade of the 
 trees. He did not know very well 
 what death was, and did not sup- 
 pose that his mother was in so great 
 danger. But he knew that it would 
 be very dreadful for him to lose her, 
 and he felt as if his affectionate 
 heart would break. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford had spent much of 
 her time in teaching her little boy 
 and girl And the more hei 
 strength failed, the more earnest 
 she was that they shonld be in 
 s\x\x( ted in religion, and be con 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 19 
 
 verted to God. Every morning 
 and dQiiks^'g she used to take tliem 
 into Ler closet and kneel down. 
 and pray to the Lord for them. 
 
 As Charles walked alone under 
 the elms, he thought of this. He 
 remembered how often his dear 
 mother had told him that he must 
 pray to God whenever he was in 
 trouble. The poor little fellow was 
 in trouble now ; so he thought the 
 best thing he could do would be to 
 go by himself and pray. He went 
 up-stairs into a room which was not 
 occupied, and there he knelt dow^n 
 and prayed that God would bless 
 his dear mother. 
 
 Now, it happened that Charles's 
 aunt was sewing in a little apart- 
 
'20 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 ment near to this room, wnere she 
 could hear what he said. This aunt 
 was Miss Esther Clifford, an elder 
 sister of Captain Clifford, who lived 
 at Riverbank. Ever since Charles 
 had been deprived of the particular 
 attentions of his mother, he had been 
 under the care of his aunt Esther. 
 And he could not have had a better 
 guardian, for she was sensible, and 
 pious, and very kind. When Miss 
 Esther heard the child praying for 
 his mother, it affected her very 
 much. She went, therefore, into 
 her brother's study, 'where he was 
 writmo;, and told him of what she 
 had heard. 
 
 The captain laid dov/n his pen, 
 and said, "I did not know that 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 21 
 
 Charles supposed his mother to be 
 so ill. Yet I am glad that it is so 
 The little boy will thus be better 
 prepared for the dreadful stroke 
 v/hich I am afraid is coming upon 
 us." 
 
 " O, brother,'* said Miss Esther, 
 ** what a blessed thing it is to have 
 the consolations of religion at such a 
 time. My dear sister grows weaker 
 and weaker every day. To tell you 
 the truth, I should not be surprised 
 if she should expire some day in her 
 chair. She tries to appear bettei 
 than she is, for fear of distressing 
 you. But in the midst of all, she is 
 so sweet in her temper, and so full 
 of Christian joy, that one cannot pity 
 tier. She is happier than any of us " 
 
22 CHARLES CLIFFORi:. 
 
 Captain Clifford covered his face 
 with his hands, but his sister could 
 see the tears trickling down his 
 cheeks. So she took his hand in a 
 kind manner, and said, " Brother, 
 you know where to go for comfort 
 and support. The Lord orders all 
 these trials for your good, and I 
 hope you are able to trust in his 
 promise." 
 
 " Yes," said he, ''I am! I am ! — 
 I am thankful that it is so. The 
 trial is hard to bear, but my trust is 
 in the name of the Lord. He will 
 support me. and take care of these 
 motherless children. Now, my dear, 
 go and see if you can persuade your 
 sister to lie down» and take some- 
 thino^ reviving." 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 28 
 
 Tpc? Captain then opened his Bi 
 ble, diA bei^an to read. And the 
 young reader of this story will find, 
 that if he is ever in deep affliction, 
 the Holy Scriptures will give more 
 real con fort than all other books put 
 tost ether 
 
24 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Several weeks passed away, and 
 Mrs. Clifford became every day 
 more weak. At last she was en- 
 tirely confined to her bed. And as 
 she could not speak without pain, 
 the little children were not allowea 
 to go very often into her chamber. 
 This made Charles grieve very 
 much, for he r ow began to think 
 that his mother would indeed be 
 taken away from him ; and even lit- 
 tle Mary saw that something more 
 than common was the matter. 
 
 Charles slept in a room up-stairs, 
 m a small bed near his father's. One 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 25 
 
 morning, long before it was daylight, 
 he was awakened by his aunt, who 
 seemed to be weepir.g. As soon as 
 he could get his clothes on, Miss 
 Esther took him into his mo- 
 ther's chamber. There was a lamp 
 burning in the entry, but the room 
 was almost dark. Charles saw his 
 father leaning over the side of the 
 Ded, wdiere Mrs. Moore, the nurse, 
 was holding his mother in her arms. 
 Charles was shocked when he saw 
 how ghastly his dear mother looked, 
 and heard how hardly she breathed. 
 Mrs. Clifford was dying. She 
 could scarcely speak ; but when she 
 saw her son coming towards the bed, 
 she stretched out her pale, thin 
 
 hands, and seemed to smile. Charles 
 3 
 
26 CFA.RLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 came near his motlier, and heard 
 her say, ^^ My son — my son, love and 
 serve God — remem )er your dying mo- 
 ther's rvords — love and serve GodT 
 She could say no more, but sank 
 back into the nurse's arms. Then she 
 made a sign that she wished her son 
 to come to the bed, and after Charles 
 had kissed her cold lips, she seemed 
 to fall into a kind of sleep. Her 
 breath became shorter and shorter, 
 and at last she lay quite still, with her 
 eyes fixed as if they had been glass 
 Captain Clifford then motioned to 
 his sister to take the little boy away. 
 When she had taken him down- 
 stairs, he found Mr. Lee, the minis- 
 ter, sitting by the parlour fire. After 
 Miss Esther hai said a few words to 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD 27 
 
 Mr. Lee, this gentleman took Charles 
 on his knee, and, putting his arm 
 kindly around him, said, 
 
 " Charles, do you know that youi 
 dear mother has gone to heaven ?" 
 
 Charles said nothing, but hid his 
 face in Mr, Lee's bosom, and burst 
 into tears. He sobbed and sio-hed 
 so much, that it was lonor before he 
 could attend to what the minister 
 said. After a little while, Mr. Lee 
 spoke to him thus : 
 
 '' Yes, my little boy, your dear 
 mother is now, I am sure, enjoying 
 perfect happiness in the presence of 
 God. I was sent for to see her in 
 the middle of the night, and I talked 
 and prayed with her. She said she 
 was not afraid to die, because she 
 
28 CHARLES CLIFFORD, 
 
 believed in Chris^ and because she 
 desired to be with him. And she 
 wished that I would often talk to hei 
 little Charles and Mary, and put yon 
 in mind of what your mother had 
 taught you." 
 
 Mr. Lee talked a good deal more 
 with Charles, and then they knelt 
 down, and Mr. Lee prayed that God 
 would comfort the afflicted family. 
 
 I will not stop to tell about the 
 funeral, and about the grief of every 
 one in the house. It is enough to 
 say, that the body of Mrs. Clifford 
 w^as buried, and that when little 
 Mary came to understand that she 
 should never see her mother any 
 more in this world, she would cry 
 till she was quite sick. Every tning 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 29 
 
 appeared mournful at Riverbank for 
 a long while after tne death of Mrs 
 Clifford. The servants went sadl} 
 about the house, and seemed to do 
 every thing with sorrowful hearts. 
 Captain Clifford never smiled, and 
 spent almost all his time in his study, 
 in reading and prayer. 
 
 Charles and Mary were greatly 
 distressed; but the grief of little 
 children does not last very long. It 
 was not many days before Mary was 
 jumping and running about the lawn 
 and garden as usual. At times, in- 
 deed, she would see somethinof which 
 reminded he r of her mother, and then 
 she would weep bitterly. It was 
 much longer before Charles became 
 
 cheerful ; and even after the violence 
 
 3* 
 
3^ CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 of his sorrow had passed away, there 
 was scarcely ever an hour in which 
 he did not remember his mother's 
 last words to him. Captain Clifford 
 used to talk a great deal to Charles 
 and endeavoured to make him think 
 of good things; and the little boy 
 really seemed as if he was resolved 
 to love and serve God. 
 
 A few w^eeks after the death of 
 Mrs. Clifford, a note came to River- 
 bank, to say that Mrs. Lee, the mi- 
 nister's wife, w^ouli be glad to have 
 a visit from Miss Esther and the 
 children. The captain thought this 
 very proper, as he was desirous that 
 Charles and Mary should have some 
 recreation ; and he knew also that 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 31 
 
 Mr. Lee would teach them a great 
 many good things. 
 
 The next morning, very early, the 
 carriage was brought to the door; 
 the trunks were tied on behind ; the 
 little folks were neatly dressed ; and 
 then they set off for Mr. Lee's 
 Mary was delighted with every thing 
 that she saw, and asked her aunt a 
 hundred questions. And Charles 
 was pleased too, but every now and 
 then he w^ould think of the times 
 when he used to go in the carriage 
 wdth his dear mother, and this made 
 him quite sober. At last Miss Es- 
 *;her asked him why he seemed so 
 sorrowful. Charles was silent for 
 some time, and then sobbed out 
 " Because I have no mother !" 
 
32 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Miss Esther then tried to comfort 
 the little boy. She told him that he 
 )iad a mother still, that she was in 
 heaven, and that if he was a good 
 boy, he should see her again. She 
 also told him that God would be his 
 father, and would do every thing for 
 him that he needed. She put him 
 in mind of the way in which the 
 Lord clothes the lilies, and takes 
 care of the birds. 
 
 As they drove along, Miss Esther 
 looked over a fence, and saw two 
 sheep in the corner of a field. One 
 of them was quietly lying down, 
 while the other stood by it looking 
 around. "See there," said she to 
 the children, " do you not see how 
 the Lord takes care of every living 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 33 
 
 thing ? It is he who gives these in- 
 nocent sheep every thing that is good 
 for them. See how contented and 
 happy they are. Now you may be 
 sure that your heavenly Father will 
 take care of you." 
 
 They began to approach Mr. Lee's 
 house, and when they came near tc 
 his large gate, there he was, stand- 
 ing with his little daughter, ready 
 to welcome them. The house was 
 of one story only, but then it had a 
 great many rooms It was w^hite, 
 and there were v'nes running all 
 over the sides. The court-yard be- 
 fore the house was filled with flow- 
 ering plants and shrubs. On one 
 side of the house there was a garden ; 
 on the other side was a large or 
 
34 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 chard, with apples, pears, and peaches 
 hanging on the trees. Behind the 
 house was a green meadow, which 
 descended gradually till it reached 
 the little brook which ran along 
 through the farm. 
 
 Mr. Lee conducted them all into 
 the house. There was Mrs. Lee, 
 sitting ready to receive them, and 
 the children were jumping with joy 
 at the arrival of the little visiters. 
 In an arm-chair, by the window, sat 
 old Mr. Carter, the father of Mrs. Lee; 
 and a beautiful Irish greyhound 
 was lyinp in the doorway. The day 
 was spent very agreeably by the 
 young people. Jane Lee showed 
 them the way to the little brook, 
 where they were delighted to see the 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 35 
 
 oright fishes sporting in the places 
 where the water was still. They 
 made little boats to sail in the stream^ 
 and played as children commonly do 
 until it was time for dinner. 
 
 After dinner, Mr. Lee called the 
 children all around him, and said, 
 ' My dear little friends, I make it a 
 rule to let no day pass without teach- 
 ing my children something. I hope 
 our young visiters will not be sorry 
 to learn something too." 
 
 " O, no, sir," said Charles, " we 
 wish to learn very much." 
 
 *' Then I will tell you all how you 
 may be happy as long as you live." 
 
 *' Yes," said Charles, " that is what 
 we all wish to know ; w^e all desire 
 to be happy . And I am not so happy 
 
36 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 now as T used to be." Here 'he 
 little fellow looked very sorrowful. 
 
 " I do not mean," said Mr. Leo, 
 "that I can tell you how to keep 
 from being in trouble. Every one 
 has his troubles. Afflictions come 
 apon everybody. The Lord some- 
 times sends trials upon those whom 
 he loves best. Can any of you tell 
 me what orood man is mentioned in 
 the Bible, who suffered great afflic- 
 tions?" 
 
 Charles. David was often in 
 trouble. 
 
 Mary. Poor Joseph was sold hy 
 his brethren. 
 
 Mr. Lee smiled, to see that little 
 Mary understood so well what was 
 meant. She had often heard from 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 37 
 
 her mother the story of Joseph ; and 
 she blushed when she perceived that 
 slie had answered aright. 
 
 Mr. Lee. Is there not another who 
 was more distressed *«han either of 
 these ? 
 
 Jane Lee. Yes, sir ; Job was griev- 
 ouslj afflicted. 
 
 Mr. L. Mention some of the things 
 which he suffered. 
 
 Jane. Robbers carried away all his 
 oxen and his asses. Fire from hea- 
 ven consumed his flocks of sheep. 
 The Chaldeans took off his camels. 
 All his servants were killed. And 
 then his seven sons and three daugh- 
 ters were destroyed. All this fell 
 upon Job in one day. Then he broke 
 
 out with boils, over his whole body ; 
 4 
 
38 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 and what made it worse, his wife 
 behaved very w^ickedly, and his three 
 intimate friends reproached him, in 
 stead of comforting him. 
 
 Mr. L. Very well. Can you tell 
 me of one who was much more holy 
 than Job, and who was a great suf- 
 ferer ? 
 
 Charles. The Lord Jesus Christ 
 
 Mr. L. Yes, my children, the Lord 
 Jesus Christ was a man of sorrows, 
 and acquainted with grief. And all 
 that he suffered was for the sake of 
 sinners. Now when w^e are in trou 
 ble, we should remember this, and i 
 would help to make us contented. 
 
 Charles. But how can a person bo 
 happy in the midst of troubles? 
 
 Mr L. If you were sure that Gc>d 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD 39 
 
 lowd j^ou, and that you would go 
 to litwvoii; would it not make you 
 happy? 
 
 Charles. C^,. yes! I should be 
 happy to t.l\i)Ji of seeing my dear 
 mother again. 
 
 M)'. L. If you vvive your heart to 
 God, and put yo^r tiust in the Lord 
 .Tesus, you will be supported in time 
 of distress. God takes particulai 
 care of his dear children. When he 
 afflicts them, it is for their good. 
 They know that whatever befalls 
 them is just as it ought to be. No- 
 thing can happen that is not permit- 
 ted by their heavenly Father. 
 
 Charles. I am glad to hear you talk 
 so, sir ; because I wish to know how 
 to be comforted when I feel sorry. 
 
40 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Mr. L. You and your dear sister 
 nave been much afflicted. And now, 
 my dear children, you must go and 
 tell your sorrows to the Lord. He 
 will hear your prayer, if you pu 
 your trust in him ; I am sure that 
 he will be a father to you. 
 
 Mr. Lee talked a long time to the 
 children, and then sent them out 
 again to their plays They roamed 
 through the farm, peeped into the 
 birds'-nests, and ran about the or- 
 chard. They made baskets out of 
 the rushes, and rode upon the gentle 
 old pony. And when it became 
 dark in the evening, they were so 
 much wearied, that they were glad 
 to retire to their chambers, wheie 
 they soon went to sleep. 
 
rz 
 
CHARLES CLIFIORD. 43 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It v^^as more than a week before 
 Charles and Mary went home. As 
 long as they remained at Mr. Lee's, 
 they were pleased and contented. 
 Old Mr Carter nsed to take the 
 children on his knee, and tell them 
 amusino: stories. One morning he 
 bade little Charles come to him, and 
 taking him up, said, " Child, look 
 at these wrinkles ir my old face; 
 look at these gray hairs. Do you 
 know what makes them ?" 
 
 Charles. Yes, sir. I think it is 
 because you are so old. 
 
 Mr Carter. Yes. I am seventy 
 
44 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 five years of age. Once I was a 
 little boy, like you, and when I usee 
 to hear people speak of the troubles 
 of age, I did not believe what they 
 said. But now I know that ola 
 age is full of trials. Look into my 
 mouth ; I have not one tooth. I an? 
 lame in one knee from the rheuma 
 tism, and I cannot hear what you 
 say unless you speak very loud. 
 
 Charles. O, do you not wish 
 you were a little boy again? 
 
 Mr. C. No, my child. It is 
 painful to be old ; but there are so 
 many bad things in a long life, that 
 I should not wish to live mine over 
 agrain. I have this thouo^ht thai 
 comforts me : the older T get, the 
 nearer I get to my home 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 45 
 
 Charles. Is not this your home ? 
 
 Mr. C. This is my earthly home * 
 out I mean my heavenly home. 
 Before many days, I expect to go 
 to my heavenly Father, and I am 
 just waiting here until he invites 
 me to come. 
 
 Charles looked very serious, and 
 seemed to be thinking very earnestly 
 about what Mr. Carter had said. 
 The old gentleman took notice of 
 this, and said nothing for some time, 
 for he wished the little boy to con- 
 sider what he said. At last he 
 began to speak to him again. 
 
 ** Charles," said he, "if you wish 
 to have a happy old age, begin to 
 serve God no/v. Little boys often 
 suppose they are too young to think 
 
•46 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 «iDout religion, and so they put it 
 off until they shall get to be men. 
 And Avhen they have grown up, 
 they are so much taken up with 
 worldly things, that they care 
 nothinor about relitrion." 
 
 Charles. O, sir, I think about 
 these things very often. I wish to 
 be a child of the Lord, for my dear 
 mother told me to love and serve 
 God. This was the last thing she 
 ever said to me. 
 
 Here the tears began to run down 
 the little boy's cheeks. Mr. Carter 
 thought that he had said enough 
 for the present, and therefore began 
 to talk to some one else who was 
 just then coming into the room. 
 
 Their visit had been prolonged 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 47 
 
 severaldaj 5, and Miss F^sther thought 
 It was time to return. The httle 
 Lees were very sorry to part with 
 their playmates, but Miss Esther 
 promised to send the carriage for 
 Jane, to come and pay them a visit. 
 The carriage drove away, and the 
 little folks kissed their hands" and 
 waved their handkerchiefs as long 
 as they could see one another. 
 
 When they came within sight of 
 Riverbank, Mary clapped her hands, 
 and cried out, " Home — home — 
 there is our dear home — now we 
 
 shall see our dear father and " 
 
 She was almost about to say, "mo- 
 ther," but she remembered that she 
 had no mother, and her countenance 
 immediately became sad. Poor 
 
iS CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Charles also was very sorrow fai, 
 for ev^ery tree and every flower 
 put him in mind of what he had 
 lost. But all these feelings passed 
 away as soon as they drove into 
 the avenue, under the elms, for 
 whom should they see there but 
 Captain Clifford, standing ready to 
 w^elcome them, and help them out 
 of the carriage. He took his child 
 ren in his arms, and kissed them 
 aofain and as^ain. Then he led his 
 sister into the house, where all the 
 domestics hastened out to shake 
 hands with the children. When 
 they were gathered in the evening 
 for family worship, Captain Clifford 
 gave thanks to God for bringing 
 
CHAKLES CLIFFORD. 49 
 
 tnem all together again in health 
 and safety. 
 
 Every thing went on at River* 
 bank in a very orderly w^ay. In the 
 morning, after the children had read 
 in the Bible, and prayed in their own 
 chambers, they came into the library. 
 Here the family was collected, ser- 
 vants and all, for prayer. The Cap- 
 tain used first to read a chapter in 
 the Bible ; then they sang a psalm or 
 hymn ; and then they all knelt down, 
 and he offered up a prayer to God. 
 He used to say that the day always 
 passed more pleasantly for being 
 sweetened with prayer ; and besides, 
 that meeting together in this way for 
 family worship made them love one 
 another more. 
 
50 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 After breakfast, the children came 
 again into the library, when they 
 learned a Scripture lesson. Then 
 Mary went up-stairs to her sewing, 
 in her aunt Esther's room, and 
 Charles remained with his father, to 
 attend to his studies. Every day 
 the captain used to take them out to 
 ride or walk, and wherever they 
 went, he endeavoured to teach them 
 something useful. 
 
 Charles and Mary were both intel- 
 ligent, and as they grew up, they 
 seemed never to forget what their 
 mother had taught them. It would 
 *;ake me too long to tell every thing 
 that happened. Riverbank w^as a 
 peaceful, retired place. The child- 
 ren had no companions, and their 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 51 
 
 tatlier and aunt took great care to 
 teach them every thing that was 
 good. They were healthy, ana as 
 they became larger, everybody who 
 used to come to the house admired 
 their sweet behaviour. 
 
 But what is better than all, these 
 children began very early to fear the 
 Lord. The dying words of Mrs 
 Clifford sank into the heart of hei 
 son. Every day, for many months^ 
 he used to think of them, and praj 
 to God that he mio^ht be tauo^ht how 
 to obey them He chose the Lord 
 to be his God, and made up his mind 
 to be the Lord's servant, and to love 
 and follow Christ. Let my young 
 readers think of this. Let them 
 remember what a sweet, beautiful 
 
52 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 thino^ it is for children to mve their 
 hearts to the Lord. It is just as pro- 
 per for young persons to be rehgious 
 as for old persons. Little Samuel 
 was very young when he began to 
 serve the Lord. And Christ is well 
 pleased when children love him and 
 trust in him. 
 
 Charles loved his sister, and 
 thought, very properly, that as he 
 was older than she, he ought to give 
 her good advice, and set her a good 
 example. It was a pretty sight to 
 see this little boy and girl going hand 
 in hand to Sunday-school. And 
 then no one ever heard any cross 
 words between them, for they knew 
 that it is the will of God that 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 53 
 
 brothers and sisters should tenderly 
 ove one another. 
 
 One of the first things which they 
 had learned, was that they ought to 
 honour tneir father and their mother. 
 And after the death of Mrs. Clifford, 
 the captain used to tell them that 
 they must be as obedient and kind 
 to their affectionate aunt, as they 
 would have been to their mother 
 They used to be quick and ready m 
 attending to the very first word of 
 their father or aunt; and scarcely a 
 day passed, in which they did not 
 try to contrive some way to please 
 these good friends 
 
 They were also taught to be good 
 x> the poor. One blustering, windy 
 
 day, in the spring of the year, when 
 
 5* 
 
54 CHAKLES CLIF/GRD. 
 
 Charles was quite a little boy. he 
 was taking a walk with Mr. Lee. 
 As tliey came to the edge of the 
 orchard, they saw a poor old blind 
 man, who was led by a dog. Mr 
 Lee began to talk with him, and 
 found that his eyes had been blown 
 out by the bursting of a cannon 
 Charles felt so much pity for him, 
 that he led him all the way to River- 
 bank, and begged his father to let 
 him lodge there that niglt. And 
 the next morning, he gave him food 
 enough to last him several days. 
 
 But I cannot stop to tell of all that 
 happened while they were little 
 children. One year after another 
 passed away, and Charles and Mary 
 weie constantly improving, and be- 
 

 55 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 57 
 
 coming more dear to their father 
 The captain took all the education 
 of Charles into his own hands. But 
 at length, the health of this kind 
 father began to suffer very much, so 
 that he could not teach the children 
 any longer. He became very thin 
 and pale, his voice lost its strength, 
 and he was almost always coughing. 
 When Charles perceived this, he 
 was very much afflicted. He was 
 now quite a stout boy, and he knew 
 that something serious was the mat- 
 ter with his father. He remembered 
 too that it was just in this way his 
 mother was seized with the con- 
 sumption. This alarmed him so, 
 that he could hardly bear to think 
 of it. He used to think thus : " O, 
 
58 CHARI^S CLIFFORD. 
 
 if my dear father should die, what 
 would become of me ! I should then 
 be an orphan indeed! And what 
 would poor Mary do !*' Then he 
 remembered what good Mr. Lee 
 used to tell him about the afflictions 
 of this life. 
 
 He used to go aside and pray 
 earnestly, and this always made him 
 feel more composed and cheerful. 
 He found also a great many texts in 
 the Bible which gave him comfort. 
 He read where it is written, *' Cast 
 thy burden on the Lord, and he will 
 sustain thee." " Commit thy way 
 uiito the Lord, trust also in him, and 
 he will bring it to pass." And he 
 *elt sure that God would do nothing 
 Dut what was rig^t and merciful. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 59 
 
 The health of Captain Clifford 
 became more and more feeble, until 
 at length the physicians said that 
 nothing seemed likely to do him 
 good, except a voyage to sea, or a 
 removal for a time to some warmer 
 climate. The captain thought so 
 himself, and said that he w^ould go 
 nd spend a year in the south of 
 France, if he knev^ what to do with 
 his children during his absence. 
 Charles at once declared that he 
 wished to go with his father, that he 
 might wait upon him, and nurse 
 him. But the captain said this 
 would never d^; because Charles 
 was too young to be of much service, 
 and besides, it was a very important 
 part of hi? life, which he ought noi 
 
60 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 to lose by any means. He wished 
 Charles to learn as much as he 
 could, and the loss of a year's studies 
 would be very great. But the cap- 
 tain had one reason for not wishinor 
 to take Charles, which he did not 
 mention to any one but his sister. 
 He did not think it likely that he 
 should ever recover his health ; and 
 he thought it would be a dreadful 
 thing for his child to be left an or- 
 phan in a foreign land, or upon the 
 wide ocean. 
 
 Mr. Lee was sent for ; and when 
 he heard the case, he proposed an* 
 other plan, which was, that Miss 
 Esther should bring Mary to live at 
 his house, and that Charles should 
 be sent to a board ino^-school, which 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORJ. 61 
 
 was kept by his brother-in-law, about 
 
 seven miles distant. 
 
 Captain Chfford was sorry to send 
 
 nis son away from home ; but he 
 
 saw no other way, and so he con 
 
 sented. Thev ao^reed, therefore, that 
 
 the house at Riverbank should be 
 
 shut up, and that as soon as possible 
 
 the captain should sail for ^Marseilles 
 
 As soon as this was determined on, 
 
 everyone became sad. The captain 
 
 was grieved because he had to leave 
 
 his dear family, especially as he did 
 
 not think he should ever see them 
 
 again. Miss Esther Clifford was 
 
 sorry to part with her brother and 
 
 with Charles. And it almost broke 
 
 the hearts of the children ^o think 
 6 
 
62 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 of being separated from their dear 
 father and from one another. But 
 the captain said, " The will of the 
 Lord be done ! I trust my children 
 love the Lord, and will endeavour to 
 serve him. Charles has good prin 
 ciples, and will not forget his mo- 
 ther's last words.'' 
 
 After Charles had gone out of the 
 room, Mr. Lee said, "I do not fear 
 about Charles ; he is a good boy, and 
 will do well. He has fine health ; 
 he is a stout and manly fellow, and 
 can ride and swim as w^ell as a man. 
 It will do him good to be away from 
 home for a time, and I hope, when 
 you return, you will see him greatly 
 improved. Now let us kneel down, 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 63 
 
 and pray to God for his blessing on 
 our plan." 
 
 So they knelt down, and prayed 
 that ihe Lord would bless al. the fa- 
 mily during their separation. 
 
64 CEIARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It was a sorrowful day at River- 
 */ank when Charles Clifford left home 
 to go to Mr. Carter's academy. As 
 he rode silently along, by the side 
 of Mr. Lee, who accompanied him, 
 many sad thoughts filled his mind. 
 He thoun^ht of his father, and was 
 much in doubt whether he should 
 ever see him again. To divert his 
 mind to other subjects, Mr. Lee be- 
 gan to give him some advice. He 
 told him that there would be many 
 things to tempt him, and that bad 
 companions would try to make 
 nim do wrong. He told him that 
 
CHARLES CLIFF^JKO. 65 
 
 he must seek help of God, for that 
 ne would now be exposed to greater 
 dangrers than he had ever been tried 
 with before. 
 
 As they approached the end of 
 their ride, Charles began to feel some 
 agitation. Though he had been 
 used to see a great deal of company 
 at E-iverbank, yet he had never been 
 away from home for any lengtli of 
 time. He felt as if he w^as going out 
 upon the wide world to shift for 
 himsel*^. And he hfted up his heart 
 to God as he rode along, and prayed 
 that he would direct his steps and 
 preserve his soul. 
 
 The academy was a very large 
 building, several stories high, stand- 
 ing in the midst of a green. At one 
 6^ 
 
6G CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 side of this green was the dweUing 
 of Mr. Carter, the preceptor, and at 
 the other side a low, brick building 
 of one story ; this was called the 
 school-house, because the boys were 
 here instructed, for the large edifice 
 was taken up with lodging-rooms 
 and the like. Mr. Lee took his 
 young companion into the house, 
 where they found Mr. Carter. Charles 
 was rejoiced to find that a son of his 
 good old friend at the parsonage was 
 to be his preceptor ; but he could not 
 help shedding some tears when Mr. 
 Lee went away, and left him by 
 himself in a strange place. 
 
 Mr. Carter was very kind, and 
 told him that as this was the first 
 day of his com.ng to school, be 
 
CHARLLS CLIFFORD. 67 
 
 would not require any lessons, but 
 that he might go in and out as he 
 chose, so as to get used to the place 
 He also showed him the room where 
 he was to sleep, and there was a row 
 of beds along the wall for four or five 
 other boys. 
 
 Every thing was new to Charles, 
 and as young people are fond of 
 novelty, he was much entertained. 
 The hum and bustle in the school- 
 room seemed very great, and the 
 boys gazed and whispered when 
 they saw the new scholar enter the 
 room. And afterwards, when the 
 whole crowd of frolicsome fellows 
 turned out upon the green, and 
 shouted and screamed and ran about 
 with violence, he perceived that he 
 
68 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 had got into new compan' It 
 pleased him to see that they all 
 looked so happy, and he began to 
 think that he ';hould soon be quite 
 t home. 
 
 The bell x-xog for supper, and the 
 boys scampered and bustled into the 
 dining hall. 
 
 Here a long table was spread, and 
 the scholars were seated in rows. 
 Charles was too much embarrassed 
 to enjoy his meal, for the noise and 
 confusion of so many was great, and 
 every thing was different from what 
 he had been accustomed to at home. 
 After the meal was finished, the lads 
 went into different rooms with their 
 several tutors Some delivered 
 speeches, others read compositions, 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 69 
 
 and a few took lessons in drawing 
 and music. 
 
 When this was done, they were 
 called together again into a large 
 hall for pra3'ers, and then prepared 
 to go to rest 
 
 When Charles went up to the 
 room where he was to lodge, he saw 
 that five or six boys were to sleep in 
 the same place. They were rude 
 and inquisitive, and asked him a 
 great many idle questions. But 
 what distressed him most of all was, 
 that every one of them went to bed 
 without any reading of the Scrip- 
 tures, and without prayer. Now 
 Charles had been taught by his dear 
 mother never to lie down at night 
 without havino^ thanked God for the 
 
70 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 blessings of the day, and asked his 
 protectmg care during the night. 
 He looked about in vain for a private 
 place, to which he might go by him- 
 self for this purpose. How different 
 was this from Riverbank, where he 
 had his own little room, with a chair, 
 and table, and book-shelf At last 
 he sat down by the lamp which 
 stood upon a bench, and read in the 
 little pocket Bible which his mother 
 had given him. Then he opened 
 the door, and walked in tiie long: 
 entry. At one end of it was a win- 
 dow, into which the moon was shin 
 ing very brightly. Here he knelt 
 down, and earnestly prayed. He 
 aslted the Lord to bless his father, 
 and sister, and aunt, and also tha^ 
 
CIARLES CLIFFORD. 73 
 
 he might himself be kept from fall- 
 ing into temptation. 
 
 In the morning Charles was up 
 very early. Though it was quite 
 cold, he went into the school-room 
 by himself, and there read and 
 prayed ; and it made him feel happy 
 to think that God was a friend who 
 was always near him. 
 
 Before many days, he had become 
 quite well acquainted with the ways 
 of the school. He studied diligently 
 and was the best scholar in his class. 
 The t^^achers soon took notice that 
 they had no occasion to watch 
 Charles Clifford. He was always in 
 his place ?t the right time. His 
 books were always neat and in good 
 order Anrl he was never whisper 
 
72 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 ing or playing during the hours of 
 study, as was frequently the case 
 with the other boys. 
 
 One day a strange gentleman 
 came in with his son, whom he had 
 brought to the academy. As he was 
 looking at the scholars, he stopped 
 and said to Mr. Carter, ^' Who is 
 that fine healthy-looking boy near 
 the window ? It seems to me that I 
 have seen him before." 
 
 " That," said the preceptor, " is 
 the only son of Captain Clifford, of 
 River bank." 
 
 " Is it possible !" said Mr. Rej 
 nolds; "I am well acquainted with 
 hisi father. I must speak to him." 
 Mr. Reynolds then called Charles, 
 and shook hands with him. He also 
 
CHARLES C1.IFFORD. 73 
 
 ' introduced to him his son Henry 
 
 Reynolds, and said he hoped they 
 
 would be friends. Charles was pleas- 
 
 d with this, for he had very few 
 
 acquaintances among the scholars. 
 
 It was very distressing to Charles 
 to see how much folly and wicked 
 ness there was amons^ the boys. 
 Many of them seemed to have no 
 regard for the truth, and were ready 
 to say any thing, in order to deceive 
 tlie teacher. And when they were 
 dt their sports, there were some of 
 them who cursed and swore, and 
 ui5Ti.d other lans^uaore of the wors* 
 kind. Every few days there was 
 quarrel] ino^ and lio-htino- amono- 
 them, and every variety of mischiev- 
 ous tricks ana nranks. Such thincrs 
 
74 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Sjave Charles much pain. He sa\«r 
 that these boys had not the fear of 
 God before their eyes, and that many 
 of them were not only careless, but 
 wicked. Though he was fond of 
 play, yet he could not join with those 
 who were profane in their language. 
 There were a few who seemed to be 
 quiet boys, but even these were often 
 led into faults by the example of 
 others, and because they were afraid 
 or ashamed to do right. This made 
 Charles think much of the advice 
 which Solomon gives : '* My son, if 
 sinners entice thee, consent thou 
 not;" and also of our Saviour's 
 won is about those who are ashamed 
 of him and of his cause. 
 
 The larger boys endeavoured to 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 75 
 
 get Charles to join them in their mis- 
 chief, but he always refused. And 
 he determined that he would be open 
 and sincere, and always tell them 
 the reason why he would not do 
 what they desired. He was kind 
 and polite to every one, and used to 
 play with them at ball, and go with 
 them to skate upon the frozen mill- 
 pond. But when they asked him to 
 help in any mischief, he w^ould say, 
 '' No, I dare not, for it is wrono-." 
 He also used to reprove those who 
 used bad language, or who told false- 
 hoods ; and ti is made several of them 
 dislike him very much. 
 
 Charles tried for a long time to per- 
 suade the boys who lodged in the same 
 room to read sometimes in the Bible. 
 
76 CHA.RLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 but they would not be persuaded. 
 One little fellow indeed consented to 
 read with him, but he was laughed 
 at bv the others, and he had not 
 firmness enough to do what he knew 
 was right. And then, to show how 
 bold he was, he joined with the rest 
 \n ridiculing Charles, whom they 
 lick-named the parson. Charles was 
 wnllling to bear their reproaches. He 
 remembered that his blessed Saviour 
 had been ridiculed and reproached, 
 and he used to pray for those who 
 laughed at him. In one of the books 
 which his father had given him, he 
 found a sentence which pleased him 
 so much, that he copied it in large 
 letters into the beginning of his 
 writingf-book. It was this : No one 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 77 
 
 ever became distinguished who was 
 afraid of being laughed at. 
 
 He learned more and more whai 
 Mr. Lee meant, when he told him 
 that he would be exposed to greater 
 danger and temptations than he had 
 ever known before. Sometimes he 
 had sorrowful thoughts about home, 
 and especially about his father, from 
 whom he had not heard any thing. 
 Yet he tried, in the midst of all this, 
 to seek help from God, and he re- 
 loiced that he had ever been tauofhl 
 to seek his favour. 
 
 7* 
 
78 CHARLFS CLIFFORD. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Bible teaches us to .ove out 
 neighbour as ourselves, and every 
 true Christian tries to do good to all 
 around him. Charles Clifford de- 
 sired to make himself useful, and, 
 therefore, as soon as he found that 
 there was a Sunday-school in the 
 neighbourhood, he made a visit to it. 
 The superintendent asked him if he 
 wished to join the sciiool, and Charles 
 told him that he ^bought he should 
 1)6 able to instruct a little class of 
 children, who were learning to read. 
 So the superintendent gave him two 
 little boys to begin with. They were 
 
CHAHIES CLIFFORD. 79 
 
 the sons of a fisherman, who lived 
 on the banks of the river, about three 
 miles off. He was much delighted 
 with his business, and thought it one 
 of the happiest hours in the whole 
 week when he met his little scholars. 
 But this was a new occasion for the 
 ridicule of his playmates, and there 
 was hardly a day in which they did 
 not tease him about his Sunday- 
 school. 
 
 All this time Charles was very 
 diligently learning every thing which 
 was appointed for him He read 
 Latin and Greek, and studied geo- 
 graphy, history, and mathematics. 
 He took care to write a beautiful 
 hand, and also learned to draw. But 
 what deliirhted him most of all, was 
 
80 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 the study of the Holy Scriptures 
 He read the Old and New Testa- 
 ments over and over, and used to 
 commit a number of verses to me- 
 mory every morning before break- 
 fast. And in order to fix these in 
 his mind, he had a paper book, in 
 which he wrote down the passages 
 of the Bible which appeared to him 
 most important for his private use. 
 
 Miss Esther Clifford and his sister 
 came twice to see him, and once he 
 was allowed to go and spend a week 
 at the parsonage. This gave him 
 groat pleasure, and he was gratified 
 to see the improvement of Mary, 
 who was growing up to be an intel- 
 ligent ofirl, under the care of her o^ood 
 aunt. But there was one thing: which 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. SI 
 
 made tliem all very anxious. They 
 nad received one letter from Captain 
 Clifford, written soon after his arrival 
 at Marseilles in France; but several 
 months had passed without their re- 
 ceiving any news about him. This 
 gave Charles many sleepless hours. 
 He fancied that his dear father had 
 died in a foreign country, and this 
 frequently made him weep, as he 
 lay awake in his bed. But then he 
 remembered the many precious pro- 
 mises which God has given to those 
 who love him, and this filled him 
 with peace. In particular, he often 
 used to repeat tohimself that precious 
 passage in the 112th Psalm, where it 
 is said of the believer : He shall not 
 be afraid of evil tidings; his. heart is 
 
S2 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 /^re^ trusting m the Lord. And he 
 knew that nothing could happen to 
 his friends, or to himself, without the 
 wise permission of his heavenly 
 Father. 
 
 Let every reader of this little book 
 pause, and think how good it is for 
 young persons to love and fear God, 
 and how much real comfort and 
 nappiness thf re is in true religion. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD S3 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Bible says, Seek ye first the 
 kingdom of God and his righteous- 
 ness, and all these things shall be 
 added unto you. That is, all earthly 
 things which are needful shall be 
 o^iven to those who try, first of all 
 to honour and please God. There 
 never was a person who really lost 
 any thing, in the end, by being 
 truly relioious. It was so with 
 Charles Clifford. Many persons 
 would be ready to think that 
 Charles woild always be despised 
 and disliked by his companions. 
 And so he was for a time; but 
 
84 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 afterwards tliey found how much 
 they had been mistaken. The way 
 in which this happened shall be 
 related in this chapter. 
 
 During the winter season there 
 was no amusement of which the 
 boys were so fond as that of skating. 
 Almost every Saturday afternoon, 
 during the very cold weather, they 
 used to spend in this manner. 
 Twenty or thirty of them would 
 sometimes be upon the ice at once, 
 and they used to make parties for 
 playing ball at the same time. The 
 mill-pond was so large, that they 
 could go up and dow^n more than 
 half a mile. There was no one in 
 the school who could sl^ate as well 
 as Charles Clifford, and he was very 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 85 
 
 bcldj as well as very active. On a 
 certain day, when they were play- 
 ing ball "upon the ice, it so happened 
 that all the skaters got together 
 upon a thin place, and their weight 
 was such, that the ice began to 
 crack. Instantly there was an 
 alarm given, " The ice is breaking ! 
 the ice is breaking !" Those who 
 were nearest to the outside of the 
 circle escaped as fast as they could, 
 and almost all got away before the 
 solid part gave way. But one of 
 the boys, who was more rash than 
 the rest, stayed too long; the ice 
 broke through, and he immediately 
 sank into the water. It was the 
 same boy who had insulted and 
 
 8 
 
86 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 struck Charles not many days be- 
 fore. 
 
 This is one of the most dangerous 
 situations in which any person can 
 be placed. For when ice begins to 
 break in this manner, it is exceed- 
 ingly dangerous for any one to ap- 
 proach the hole that is made, be- 
 cause the edges are usually so brittle 
 that they break through with the 
 weight of a human body. One of 
 the best methods in such a case is 
 *?o get a long board, or even a rail, 
 one end of which may be laid upon 
 the strong ice, while the person in 
 the water can escape by means of 
 the other end. This is generally 
 known to boys who skate. There- 
 fore, as soon as the accident took 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 87 
 
 place, Charles, who v\^as nearest to 
 the spot, cried out, "A plank — oi 
 a rail ! — quick, quick — or he will be 
 drowned." The boys ran as fast as 
 they could, but nothing of the sort 
 could be found. Poor Burke was 
 3ntirely covered with water, with 
 .he exception of his head. He tool- 
 hold of the edges of the ice re- 
 peatedly, in order to climb out, but 
 it broke in pieces every time. 
 
 Charles saw that the lad w^ould 
 De drowned, unless something could 
 be speedily done. He therefore 
 called upon the others to help him. 
 "Take hold of my ankles," said he, 
 *^ while I creep near to the place, 
 and let some others take hold of 
 your ankles." Charles quickly 
 
SS CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 threw himself on his breast upon 
 the ice, and crept towards the place 
 where Burke had sunk. Two boys 
 laid hold of his feet, w^hile all the 
 others held fast to the feet of tnese 
 two boys. Thus a kind of chain 
 was formed. 
 
 '^Hold fast!" said Charles, as he 
 seized Burke, and drew him out. 
 This w^as not very easy, however, 
 and Charles's head and arms w^ere 
 several times under water. At 
 length the poor dripping boy was 
 dragged safely out, almost breath- 
 less, and much chilled. As soon as 
 he could speak, he stretched out 
 hLS hand to Charles, and said : 
 
 •* Clifford, you have saved my life 
 I think you from mj heart; and I 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 89 
 
 ask your pardon before all these 
 boys for the manner in which 1 
 have treated you. I called you a 
 coward ; I take that back ; I see 
 you are no coward." 
 
 Charles smiled as he took his 
 hand, saying, "I am glad, Burke, 
 that you have changed your opinion 
 of me. But I am still more glad, 
 that I have a chance to show you 
 that I have no spite against you, 
 and that I am ready to do you any 
 favour. I iearn in the Scriptures, 
 that I must love all around me; and 
 it is in the same place tnat T learn 
 not to fight." 
 
 "Well done, Clifford!" shouted 
 
 the smaller boys; "Clifford is no 
 
 coward." And from that time there 
 8* 
 
90 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 was no one in the school who was 
 more respected than Charles Boys 
 very easily change their opinions, 
 and some who had ridiculed him 
 most were now the loudest in prais 
 ing him. No one rejoiced in this 
 change more than Harry Reynolds ; 
 for he had from the beorinnino: re- 
 spected Clifford, though he had not 
 real courao^e enouo^h to defend him 
 when he was persecuted. When 
 they were going home, Harry said, 
 *' Now I should like to know, Clif- 
 ford, why you should be afraid of a 
 few blows, wheit you are willing to 
 risk so much more in taking a 
 fellow out of the water." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Charles, ''that 
 yon still think in the old way. Is it 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 91 
 
 possible that you believe there is no 
 way of showing one's courage but 
 by fighting ? There is many a fellow 
 who fights, and who is a great cow- 
 ard notwithstanding." 
 
 ^^ How is that possible?" 
 
 *'It is very possible," said Charles; 
 " for some boys are afraid of being 
 laughed at; and this is all that 
 makes them fight. This is what / 
 call cowardice. It is an easy thing 
 to take a few knocks, but it is not so 
 easy to bear the laugh and contempt 
 of the whole school." 
 
 '' That is very true," replied 
 Harry ; " and I often used to thmk 
 that you suffered a hundred times 
 as much, as if you had let Burke 
 beat you soundly." 
 
92 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 ^* I call it true courage," said 
 Charles, *' when a person dares to 
 do every thing that is right, and 
 dares not do any thing that is 
 Mrong." 
 
 " I never thought of that before," 
 said Harry; "but I believe you are 
 right." 
 
 When the boys got home, Burke 
 took great pains to show how much 
 he felt obliged to Charles ; so that in 
 a short time the w^iole school looked 
 up to Chanes, as one of the most 
 man.y and honourable boys among 
 them. 
 
 This was not the only case in 
 which Charles Cliiforc had an op- 
 portunity of shewing his real cou- 
 rage. He was m truth a fearless 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD 93 
 
 boy, and never shunned danger^ 
 when it was right for him to face it. 
 There was one thing which kept 
 him from being timid, and that was 
 a good consciejice. No one can be 
 really brave who is afraid to think 
 about his own soul. 
 
 One dav, when Mr. Carter had 
 given a holiday, all tlie boys of the 
 school were roaming about in differ- 
 ent parts of the neighbourhood. 
 Some walked to the bank of the 
 river, where the ice was co minor 
 down in great cakes. Others were 
 huntir.g for rabbits in the woods, 
 and a number of them went to the 
 mill, to slide upon the pond, and 
 amuse themselves with the boys of 
 tt.e neio;hbourhood. It happened 
 
94 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 that a little lad had come on horse- 
 back to get a bag of meal. The 
 horse was left standing without, tied 
 to a post, while the boy was in the 
 mill. Several of the scholars thought 
 it would be a fine opportunity for 
 them to take a ride. They therefore 
 untied the horse, and helped a lively 
 little boy, named Sam Cutter, to get 
 upon his back. He did not intend 
 to ride further than to the end of the 
 lane, but as soon as he was mounted, 
 the boys set up a shout, and Sam be- 
 gan to whip the horse with a switch 
 that was in his hand. The horse be- 
 came frightened, and ran with all his 
 mio^ht. Poor little Sam was at best 
 not much of a horseman, especially 
 when he had no stirrups. Away 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 95 
 
 went the horse, and Sam cried again 
 and again, '' Help, help !" He caught 
 fast hold of the mane, and tried to 
 stop the horse, but it was all in vain. 
 The animal seemed to know that his 
 rider could not manage him, and 
 very soon got through the lane into 
 the main road. Here there were a 
 number of the scholars, at different 
 places, on both sides of the road. 
 The horse passed rapidly between 
 them, but none of them were bold 
 enough to stop him. 
 
 Charles Clifford was at that time 
 walkinof alonor the same road, and 
 saw the horse running away. He 
 placed himself near the middle of 
 the way, waving his hat so as to stop 
 the horse, and as soon as he came 
 
96 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 near, he leaped towards him and 
 seized his bridle. The horse gave a 
 strong jerk, which threw Sam off, 
 and knocked Charles down in the 
 road ; but then he instantly stopped, 
 and stood very quietly. Sam was 
 more alarmed than hurt, but it was 
 a wonder that he had not been killed 
 Charles led the horse back to the 
 mill, and the boys all collected there 
 very soon to hear the whole story. 
 They were now convinced more than 
 once that they were very wrong in 
 thinking Charles a coward, and they 
 saw that a person could be brave 
 without beinor willincr to fiorht. As 
 they were walking home, Sam Cut 
 tor said to him : 
 
 " Clifford, we used to think that 
 
CHARLES CL[FFORD 97 
 
 vou were a coward, but now we 
 know you are not. But then, you 
 know we could not help thinkir.g so, 
 because you took all the blows that 
 were given you without ever strik- 
 ing back." 
 
 ''O. is that all?" said Clifford, 
 *' then I am as much a cow^ard as 
 ever, for I should act just so again. 
 Why should I not ? Can you give 
 me any good reason why I should 
 fight those who have never injured 
 me ?" 
 
 Sam hesitated, ana then said, 
 
 " But suppose they have injured you. 
 
 Here is Burke, now ; you know he 
 
 did injure you, and struck you, and 
 
 yet you never gave him a blow." 
 
 "It would be rev^engeful," saic 
 9 
 
98 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Charles, " to return evil for evil, but 
 revenge is wrong. The Bible says 
 it is wrong. And, besides, what 
 good would it have done me to strike 
 him back ? Would it have cured 
 the hurt eye which he gave me ?" 
 
 *' Then you were not afraid of 
 him," said Sam. 
 
 •' Afraid of me " cried Burke, 
 ** no ! I am very sure now that he 
 was not afraid of me, and that he 
 is strongei than I am. I believe 
 ClitFord's plan is the best, after all." 
 
 Charles smiled, and said, ''I was 
 not afraid of you, Burke, but I will 
 tell you what I was aft aid of; I was 
 afraid of doing wrong. Do you not 
 remember the anecdote of a distin- 
 guished French general, of whom it 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 99 
 
 IS said, that on his '3eath-bed he said 
 to his children, Fear God, my child- 
 ren, have no other fear. And our 
 Saviour said to his disciples, Fear 
 not them which hill the body, hut ar 
 not able to Mil the soul, but rather 
 fear him which is able to destroy both 
 soul and body in hell. 
 
 When the boys found that Charles 
 was beginning to talk about the Bi- 
 ble, they were silent, for most world- 
 ly persons do not like to hear con- 
 versation upon religious subjects; 
 and this is a proof of the opposition 
 of the heart to God and divine 
 things. But Charles continued to 
 give them good advice, and he said 
 some thing^s which made a number 
 of them look very serious. Indeed, 
 
IdO CHARLES CLIFF(;iiD 
 
 he tried every day to lead his ac- 
 quaintances to think about good 
 things; and the boys had so much 
 regard for him, that none of them 
 would use any bad language where 
 he was. Several of those who used 
 to swear, gave it up entirely. Three 
 of the larger boys agreed to go and 
 try to be teachers in the Sunday- 
 school. He found no difficulty now 
 in getting the little fellows who 
 lodged in the room with him to read 
 several chapters in the Bible every 
 day. And all this made Charles 
 Clifford a happy boy. He found out 
 in this way, hov^ much better it wa 
 for him that he had not yielded to 
 temptation ; even though he had 
 suffered for a time. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 10 1 
 
 Thus we see that the true charac- 
 ter of a conscientious boy will be 
 found out sooner or later, and that 
 the Lord will raise up friends for 
 those who serve him. If a mans 
 ways please the Lord, he will cause 
 even his eiiemies to he at peace n iih 
 him. 
 
 ft* 
 
102 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 While we are in this world, w 
 must expect to have afflictions 
 Therefore the Scripture says, Many 
 are the afflictions of the righteous , hut 
 the Lord delivereth him out of them 
 all. Charles Clifford knew this, and 
 often used to pray that he might be 
 prepared for whatever his heavenly 
 Father chose to lay upon him. He 
 had already had seme trials. It was 
 a trial for him to part with his affec- 
 tionate father, and also that he should 
 be so long without hearing any thing 
 from him. Sometimes he used to 
 feel almost sure that his father was 
 
CHARLES C1.1FF<»RD 103 
 
 dead. And the only comfort he had 
 at such hours was in casting his cares 
 upon the Lord. It was not long 
 before a severe affliction really cam 
 upon him. 
 
 When the spring began to open, 
 Mr. Carter determined to take some 
 of the larger boys with him, on an 
 excursion upon the river. They 
 chose a fine warm morning in March, 
 and engaged a sail-boat. They had 
 their fishing-rods, and baskets of 
 provision, and set off in high spirits 
 The river Delaware is quite wide at 
 this place, and deep enough for large 
 vessels. And at this time it looked 
 somewhat rough, for the wind seemed 
 to be rising. Still, Mr. Carter thought 
 the' mio^ht safely venture out, espe- 
 
104 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 CI ally as the man who owned the 
 boat went with them. 
 
 For some time their little voyage 
 was very pleasant, and the scholars 
 were delighted with every thing they 
 saw. At last, however, the wind 
 rose so much that the boys could 
 scarcely sit upright m the boat; and 
 as they did not take care to preserve 
 the proper balance, there came a 
 squall of wind, which turned the 
 boat suddenly over. It was a mercy 
 that they were not drowned ; but it 
 so happened that they were near the 
 shore, where the av ater was not very 
 deep. They w^cre all soaking with 
 w^ater, and had to ride home in their 
 wet clothes. 
 
 The next day, when Charles came 
 
CHA.RLES CLIFFORD 105 
 
 ap to say his lesson, the tutor ob- 
 served that he seemed to shiver, and 
 said to him, 
 
 *' Are you cold, Charles?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," said he, " I am afraid 
 I have a chill." 
 
 The tutor sent him to the fire, but 
 he continued to be so cold, that at 
 last it v^as thought proper that he 
 should go to bed. After a while the 
 chill ceased, and he became very hot 
 and thirstj. His cheeks were ex- 
 ceedingly ted, and he complained of 
 pain in his temples. The truth was, 
 he was seized with a fever in conse- 
 quence of the wetting which he had 
 got the day before. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Carter perceived 
 that Charles was really ill, he had 
 
106 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 him removed to a chamber in ins 
 own house, where he would not be 
 exposed to the noise, and where Mrs. 
 Carter might attend upon him. 
 
 His fever rose so much that they 
 thought it proper to send for Doctor 
 Dobson in the night. After bleed- 
 ing, he felt better for a time, and the 
 physician left medicines to be taken 
 during the night. 
 
 Charles knew that he was very ill, 
 and he tried all the time to be lifting 
 up his heart to God, and praying for 
 grace to help him in this time of 
 need. For a time he was alarmed, 
 as most young persons are when 
 they are sick; bat then he remem- 
 bered the promises in the Bible, and 
 felt sure that the Lord would take carp 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 107 
 
 of him He thought of that verse in 
 tlie forty-first Psalm : The Lord 7ViU 
 strengtlien Mm upon the bed of lan- 
 guishing ; thou wilt make all his bed 
 in his sickness ; and this gave him 
 much comtort. 
 
 The boys of the school were very 
 much concerned when they knew he 
 was sick, for all of them now respect- 
 ed him. Several of them used to 
 attend upon him; and as he got 
 worse, rather than better, Burke, and 
 Cutter, and Reynolds sat up with 
 him several nights. As he lay awake 
 one night in great pain, the thought 
 came into his head that he might 
 perhaps do some good to his young 
 schoolfellows. He therefore called 
 to Burke, and said, 
 
08 CHARLES CLIFFOHD. 
 
 " I wish you would bring youi 
 cliair near my bed, for I wish to talk 
 with yon." When Burke came 
 near, he asked, "Do you not see that 
 1 am very sick?" 
 
 Burke. Yes, Clifford, I am sorry 
 to see you suffer so much, but I hope 
 vou will be better in a few days. 
 
 Charles. Ah, Burke, life is very 
 ancertain, and I feel that I am much 
 worse than I was. I befjm to think 
 t very likely that I shall die. 
 
 Burke. O ! do not talk in that way. 
 I hope you are not so ill as that. 
 
 Charles. I do not wish you ln 
 think that I am afraid to die. 1 
 thank God that I am not. I think 1 
 put my trust in the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, and 1 have a strong hope tha 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. x09 
 
 if I die I shall be forever happy. 
 Now, would you not be alarmed \\ 
 vou thought your death was near ? 
 
 Burke. Yes, indeed I should. I 
 confess I have a great fear of death, 
 and whenever I am sick, it alarms 
 me v^ery much. 
 
 Charles. Yet you are not sure of 
 life for a single day. O, my friend, 
 it is high time for you to think of 
 these things. Do you ever consider 
 what would, become of you, if you 
 should die ? 
 
 Burke. Why, to tell the truth, 
 Clifford, I have not attended to reli- 
 gion as much as 1 ought. 
 
 Charles. I beg you to begin now 
 I am afraid you never pray, i never 
 see you reading your Bible. 1 entreat 
 10 
 
110 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 yon to think more about the con 
 corns of your soul. Now promise 
 me that you will seriously think 
 about what I have said. 
 
 This conversation made Burke 
 feel very sober, and he promised 
 Clifford that he would attend to the 
 subject in earnest. Charles also re- 
 quested that in the morning there 
 should be a messenger sent to Mrs. 
 Lee, to inform his aunt of his ill- 
 ness. 
 
 The reader will remember that 
 after the departure of Captain Clif- 
 ford, Miss Esther took little Mary 
 to the parsonage. Here she spent 
 her time principally in giving in- 
 struction to her niece. They were 
 very happy in Mr. Lee's family, and 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 1 I I 
 
 Mrs. Lee and her two daughters did 
 every thing in their power to make 
 them comfortable. Miss Clifford 
 was very fond of the garden, and 
 used to take Mary out often to ex 
 amine the different sorts of plants, 
 as they came up in the spring. On 
 a fine mornins^, all the ladies of the 
 family were 'out in the garden, and 
 Miss Clifford was explaining to 
 Mary the nature of some flowers 
 which they saw there. Mary was 
 very much pleased with the flower, 
 because she said her brother Charles 
 used to be fond of the same. This 
 put her in mind of Charles, and she 
 began to talk of him. 
 
 " O," said she, '' how I do wish to 
 see mv dear brother Charles !" 
 
112 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Just then a servant came to say 
 that there was a man on horseback, 
 at the gate, who washed to speaK 
 with Miss CUfford. The man had 
 a note from Mr. Carter, which in 
 formed her of Charles' ilhiess, and 
 requested that she would come to 
 his house as soon as possible. She 
 carried the note immediately to Mr. 
 Lee, and he said that he would ac- 
 company her in the course of an 
 hour. There was great sorrow in 
 the whole family, and even old Mr. 
 Carter, who was now unable to leave 
 his bed, spoke of Charles, and said 
 that he remembered the little bov 
 who used to sit on his knee, and ask 
 questions. 
 
 It was long before the carriage 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 1 K5 
 
 was ready, and early in the after- 
 noon, Mr. Lee, Miss Clifford, and 
 Mary arrived at the academy. Mr. 
 Carter received them very kindly 
 Dut said that it would not be right 
 for them to see Charles at that time, 
 for his fever was very high, and it 
 would injure him to be agitated by 
 the sight of his friends. He told 
 them plainly that he thought Charles 
 was very ill. This made little Mary 
 burst into tears, and all of them were 
 much grieved. Mr. Lee was the 
 first who w^as permitted to go into 
 the room. The windows were dark 
 ened, and every thing was still and 
 solemn. 
 
 Charles lay very quiet in his bed 
 except when he would occasionaLj 
 
114 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 sigh fiom pain. Mr. Lee went ap 
 10 him, and said, 
 
 *' My dear Charles, I have come 
 to see you ; but you are too weak to 
 talk much, and so you must say very 
 little." 
 
 " O, sir," said Charles, ''I am 
 very, very glad to see you. I am 
 ill indeed, and I wish you to talk to 
 me." 
 
 " I hope you are at peace in your 
 mind, mv dear Charles." 
 
 " Yes, sir, I think I ought to be 
 very thankful. I know that my .ife 
 ■s in danger, but I am not afraid. I 
 have put my trust in the Lord." 
 
 " But have you not been a sinner 
 Charles?" 
 
 '' Yes, sir, a great sinner; but the 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 115 
 
 blood o^ Jesus Christ cleanse th from 
 all sin. And I hope God will pardon 
 me, and accept of me for the sake of 
 the Lord Jesus Christ." 
 
 " I rejoice to hear you say so," said 
 Mr. Lee ; " you cannot trust too 
 much in the Saviour. But are you 
 not anxious to o^et well?" 
 
 '' Sometimes I greatly desire to 
 recover, especially to see my dear 
 father once more ; but I think I feel 
 willing that the Lord should do with 
 me just as he pleases. I am sure it 
 would Ije a great deal better for me 
 to be in heaven than to be here." 
 
 " Now, my son, you must not 
 speak any more. I have often been 
 pleased to see that you remember 
 your Creator, and I trust you are the 
 
116 CHARLES (.LIFFORD. 
 
 Lord's child. Now, whom the Lord 
 loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth 
 every son whom he receiveth. These 
 afflictions are intended for youi 
 good. I hope you will recover, and 
 that this will be for your good as 
 long as you live." 
 
 "1 hope, sir," said Charles, ^'that 
 you wdll pray with me before you 
 
 go." 
 
 *' Certainly," said Mr. Lee; ''but 
 what do you wish me to pray for ?" 
 
 " Pray that I may be resigned to 
 the w^ill of the Lord, and that my 
 affliction may do me good. And 
 pray that I may be prepared to die, 
 if it is the will of God." 
 
 Mr. Lee knelt down and offered 
 up a prayer, and then rose up softly 
 
CHAKLES CLIFFORD. 117 
 
 and went out of the room. Charles 
 was so greatly comforted bj this, 
 and by the sweet thoughts which 
 filled his mind, that it seemed to him 
 that he was happier on his bed of 
 sickness than he had ever been while 
 he was in health. 
 
 The next morning he was allowed 
 to see his aunt and sister for a very 
 few minutes ; but it was almost too 
 much for him. Yet he seemed to 
 get better from the time that these 
 good friends came to see him ; so that 
 the doctor very soon pronounced him 
 to be out of danger. Miss Esther 
 and Mary Clifford remained at Mr. 
 Carter's until Charles was able to 
 ride out, and Mr. Lee came every 
 tew daj s t:> visit hin . As soon as 
 
118 CHARLES CL.FFORD. 
 
 ne gained sufficient strength, the}? 
 removed him to the parsonage, ^\here 
 he rapidly amended. But it was 
 many weeks before he was entire!)' 
 well, and it was sorrowful to see the 
 poor fellow walking feebly about the 
 house, thin and pale, and scarcely 
 stronor enoiiofh to lift a chair from 
 the floor. 
 
 Charles used to say, however, that 
 it was good for him that he had been 
 afflicted, and that he had learned 
 raore during his sickness about the 
 comforts of religion, than he ever 
 knew before. The conversation of 
 Mr. Lee was very pleasant and use- 
 ful to him. and he was deliohted to 
 have once more the company of his 
 aunt and sister. Still, nothino^ was 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. US 
 
 heard from Captain Clifford, and 
 none of them could avoid feelinsf 
 very gloomy at times on account of 
 this. There was a war ooinor on in 
 Europe at this time, and they used 
 to fear that he had fallen into the 
 hands of enemies. But old Mr. 
 Carter, who had been much in Eu- 
 rope, told them that in time of war 
 a great many things might happen 
 to prevent the sending of letters, even 
 though Captain Clifford should be 
 well and happy. 
 
 At leno^th Charles entirelv reco- 
 V'ered his health and strength. In- 
 deed, it seemed to his friends that he 
 looked more fresh and robust than 
 he had done before. So that every 
 
120 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 thing that happened to him appeared 
 to be kindly ordered for the best, by 
 an all -wise Providence 
 
rilARLES CLIFFORD. ]2\ 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 By the time that the summer 
 weather had fairly come, Charles 
 Clifford felt ready to return to his 
 studies. But then the summer holi- 
 days came round, and so he had to 
 wait a month longer. Harry Hey 
 nolds had been several times to see 
 him, and begged that he would go 
 with him to his father's house, in 
 Philadelphia, for a few weeks. And 
 one morning Charles looked out of 
 the windpw, and saw Mr. Reynolds 
 carriage standing there. His friend 
 Harry jumped out, ran into XY e par 
 11 
 
.22 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 sonage, and without waiting to speak 
 to any one else, said, 
 
 " Now, Clifford, father has sent 
 the carriage for jou, and you cannot 
 refuse." 
 
 " I should like to go very well," 
 said Charles ; '^ but I am under Mr, 
 Lee's care, and you must apply to 
 him." 
 
 Harry went into Mr. Lee's study, 
 and asked him very respectfully if 
 he would permit Charles to pay him 
 a visit. He also showed a note from 
 his father, expressing a strong desire 
 that Charles should spend a few 
 weeks with them in Philadelphiao 
 M^. Lee at once consented, and said 
 that if Harry would stay there that 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 123 
 
 day, Charles should be ready to set 
 off very early the next morning 
 But before Charles could consent to 
 go away, he thought it proper to 
 take a ride to Riverbank, in ordtjr to 
 see the oid servants. He went alone, 
 and on horseback, and took a few 
 presents with him. 
 
 When he came ii\ sight of the 
 house where he was born, the tears 
 came into his eyes. A thousand 
 things rushed into his mind, which 
 he had forgotten for years. There 
 was the lawn on w^hich he had 
 amused himself so often ; there was 
 the garden full of a hundred beauti 
 ful plants; for the gardener aad hn 
 family occupied the kitchen at E 
 
1-24 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 verbank. There was the beautiful 
 river flowing aloncr, as bri^^ht and 
 rapid as ever, and the rows of arch- 
 ing elms above the avenue. As he 
 drew near his father's grounds, he 
 stopped by the side of a hedge to 
 take a better look. He cast his eyes 
 down, and saw a rabbit and a phea- 
 sant lying dead at the root of a tree. 
 He could not help feeling a sort of 
 attachment even to the little animals 
 v^hich had lived at Riverbank, and 
 it seemed a pity that they should be 
 shot. But these thoughts soon pass- 
 ed away, and he began to look round 
 to see who the sportsman was ; for 
 he knew it w-as likely that some of 
 his father's friends were shooting 
 
CHAKLES CLIFFORD. 125 
 
 there. Just then he cast his eyes 
 
 ver into the meadow, and spied his 
 
 Id friend Roger the gardener, with 
 
 his dog Ponto, and his gun, just 
 
 ready to shoot. Charles waited til] 
 
 he had fired, and then called to him. 
 
 "Why, Master Charles!" said 
 
 Roger, " it does my old eyes good to 
 
 see you ; why, how you have grown ! 
 
 And how well you ride that spirited 
 
 horse ! You are almost a man now. 
 
 And when did you hear from your 
 
 good father? How glad my old 
 
 woman will be to see you!" 
 
 Thus the old man ran on, not 
 
 waiting for an answer, until Charles 
 
 began to inquire about his old nurse, 
 
 who was the gardener's wife. Roger 
 11» 
 
126 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 called his little grandson Tom, who, 
 ne said, was now a ferryman, and 
 Charles gave the boy a shawl for his 
 grandmother, and sent her a kind 
 message. Then they walked over 
 the fields and meadows, and down to 
 Riverbank. Roger took him into 
 the garden, and showed him trees 
 which he had planted with his own 
 little hands. Then they went into 
 the house, and Charles entered every 
 room. All was clean, and neatly 
 kept ; but it was very gloomy. The 
 beautiful rows of fine books in the 
 library gave him more pain than 
 pleasure, because they reminded him 
 of his absent father. And when ho 
 went into the study, where he liad 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 127 
 
 taken so many delightful lessons, 
 sitting on his father's knee, he was 
 quite overcome. He sent Roger 
 away, and took this opportunity to 
 kneel down in the silent room, and 
 pour out a heartfelt prayer to God, 
 for his beloved parent. After this he 
 again strolled through the grounds. 
 
 When the gardener's grandson 
 took the shawl which Charles had 
 sent to the old nurse, she was more 
 delighted than she knew how to ex- 
 press. 
 
 "It is very kind in Master 
 Charles," said she, '' to think of his 
 old nurse; and I hope the Lord will 
 reward him." 
 
 Charles saw all the old servants 
 
128 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 who remained, and then found it so 
 late that he had to hasten back to 
 the parsonage, in order to be ready 
 for his visit to Philadelphia. 
 
 The next day the young gentle- 
 men set off on their little journey, 
 and arrived at Mr. Reynolds' in the 
 evening. Mr. Reynolds and his 
 whole family gave Charles a cordial 
 welcome. He was surprised to see 
 the splendour of every thing about 
 tlie house, and began to think thai 
 they must be very rich people. Aftei 
 a good night's rest- he arose full of 
 curiosity to see the great city. 
 
 When he came down-stairs in the 
 morning, he found every thing pre- 
 pared which he w^ould wash to make 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 129 
 
 liim comfortable. But it astonished 
 him to see that there was no reading 
 of the Bible, and no family prayers. 
 And when they sat down to break- 
 fast there was no blessing asked 
 upon their food, and no thanks re- 
 turned afterwards. Charles perceiv- 
 ed that he had come into a family 
 where religion did not govern. He 
 therefore expected temptations, and 
 beo^an to be much on his o^uard. " I 
 must take care," thought he, " how 
 I behave, for they will judge of re- 
 ligion very much by my example." 
 Harry had told them that Charles 
 had some odd notions about religioUj 
 but Mrs. Reynolds said, 
 
 '• Never nahid, he has not seen the 
 
130 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 world yet, and we shall soon laugh 
 him out of that." 
 
 It is not necessary here to set 
 down how many days were spent 
 by Charles in seeing all the curiosi- 
 ties and wonders of Philadelphia. 
 The family of Mr. Reynolds were 
 all ready to show him every thing 
 that was to be seen, and for more 
 than a week the carriage was going 
 almost every day. The very streets 
 and buildings, the walks and public 
 squares, were new and beautiful in 
 Charles' eyes. And when he walk- 
 ed out at night, the brilliant win- 
 dows of the tradesmen and the long 
 rows of .amps seemed to him quite 
 a show. He went to see all the 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 131 
 
 great public buildings, and also ex- 
 amined the various manufactories. 
 He went on board of the packet ships 
 which go to England, and also the 
 large vessels of war at the Navy 
 yard. 
 
 When they had surveyed all 
 these things, they spent a day or 
 two in looking at the curiosities in 
 the Museum, and the paintings of 
 the Academy of Fine Arts. They 
 also rode out to the Water-works at 
 Fairmount, and enjoyed the lovely 
 prospects in that neighbourhood. 
 And they visited the various public 
 gardens ana green-houses, the Asy- 
 lum for the Deaf and Dumb, the 
 House of Refuge, and the Prisons. 
 
132 CrlARLES CLIFFORD, 
 
 But it would be tedious for me to 
 mention the various objects which 
 he went to see, especially as I 
 cannot stop to describe them all. 
 Charles was truly glad that he had 
 come to the city, for he found that 
 he learned more by actual sight 
 than he would have got by descrip- 
 tion in years. 
 
 There was one thing, however, 
 which took away a great deal from 
 the pleasure which Charles might 
 otherwise have enjoyed, and that 
 was the appearance of carelessness 
 and irreligion among all this family. 
 Charles did not see any thing while 
 he was there to show him that they 
 were not heathens, or Mohamme- 
 
CHVRLES CLIFFORD. L33 
 
 dans. There were no prayers, no 
 religious conversation, and all .he 
 irne he was there he did not see a 
 Bible, except his own. Mr. Rey- 
 nolds was a kind, generous man, 
 but he was devoted to his riches, 
 and very often took the name of 
 God in vain. The young ladies 
 appeared to think of nothing but 
 balls, and parties, and plays; and 
 they wondered that Charles should 
 take so little pleasure in what de- 
 li<2:hted them so much. 
 
 On the first Lord's-day after 
 Charles came, Mr. Reynolds gave a 
 large dinner party ; and as a com- 
 pliment to Charles,, he invited the 
 sons of several of the gentlemen to 
 2 
 
134 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 accompany them. This greatlj 
 distressed the person whom Mr. 
 Reynolds meant to please. He had 
 been accustomed to consider the 
 Sabbath as a sacred day, and had 
 never used it either for labour or 
 amusement. Yet he did not think 
 it would be right for him to stay 
 awa} entirely from the company, 
 lest they should charge his conduct 
 to wrong motives. He behaved 
 quietly and politely at the dinner 
 table, and as soon as he could, 
 slipped away and went to church, 
 where he heard an instructive ser- 
 mon. And, O ! how much happier 
 he felt, sitting in an obscure corner 
 of a strange church among a num 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. i35 
 
 ber of poor people, than at Mr 
 Reynolds' rich entertainment, where 
 he saw that they were profaning 
 the Lord's-day by idle merriment 
 When he returned, the family all 
 endeavoured to ridicule his precise 
 notions; but tliey found that he 
 was not to be changed by ridicule, 
 and that it was not so easy as they 
 thought to answer his reasons. 
 
 Charles w^ent once with them to 
 the theatre, but he declared that he 
 would never go again. 
 
 " O !" said Miss Lucy Reynolds. 
 " do you not know that the theatre 
 is a school of morals V^ 
 
 '' I know," said Charles, •' that it 
 ^s a school of met ^^ 
 
136 CHARLES CLlFFORi> 
 
 '' shocking ! Mr. Clifford, how 
 can you think so?" 
 
 ** Because, when I was there last 
 night, I heard things said upon the 
 s1age which I would not suffer any 
 one to say in this drawing-room. 
 And I heard the sacred name of 
 God taken in vain many times. I 
 also saw among the audience, ^be- 
 haviour which convinced me that 
 it was not a proper place for a moral 
 person." 
 
 In the same way Charles argued 
 against the card-parties v/hich they 
 used to have at Mr. Reynolds' 
 house. They endeavoured to per- 
 suade him to play, })ut he would 
 not He toM them plainly that he 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 137 
 
 thouo^ht it was v rons^ ; that it led to 
 gambling, and tiiat he knew ht 
 should displease God oy joining 
 with them. At last they ceased tc 
 argue with him any longer, saying 
 that he was so obstinate and precise 
 It was in vain to reason witii him 
 Charles replied, 
 
 " I am very willing that yoT3 
 should reason with me ; I am sure ] 
 wish to do whatever is reasonable." 
 
 Mrs. Reynolds. Yes, but you are 
 so perverse and old-fashioned. Youi 
 notions would make us all as 
 solemn and dull as a parcel of 
 monks. 
 
 Charles I do not know how 
 solemn moriks may be; luit 1 am 
 12* 
 
138 CI ARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 not for dulness. And I appeal to 
 you all, whether my spirits are not 
 as good as those of any one here. I 
 may be old-fashioned, for I make it 
 a rule to follow a very old book 
 called the Bible, which I fear is not 
 much in fashion. 
 
 Miss Lucij. But, Master Charles, 
 where does the Bible say that it is 
 wrong to go to the theatre, and to 
 attend balls, and to play cards ? 
 
 Charles. The Bible everywhere 
 teaches me that vain and idle words 
 and actions are wTong. It tells us 
 that whether we eat or drink, or 
 whatever we do. w^e ought to do all 
 to the glory of God. Now, I do not 
 think we can do any of these things 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 139 
 
 to the glory of God. And when we 
 aL come to die, it will give us very 
 little pleasure to look back, and 
 think how much wx have danced, 
 and played cards, and listened to 
 idle plays at the theatre. 
 
 Mrs. R. O, sir ! If you are be- 
 ginning to preach about death, and. 
 so forth, we shall change the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Charles. I ask your pardon, ma 
 dam, if I have said any thing to of- 
 fend you; but as we all have to die, 
 and that before a great while, I 
 thouo^ht there miorht be no harm in 
 sometimes thinking about it. 
 
 Miss L It is bad enough, indeed, 
 to talk in this way. Why, if I let 
 
140 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 myself think much about ;'ach hor 
 rible things, I should be air aid to go 
 into a dark room, or to be alone. It 
 is enough to make one melanchol}? 
 
 Charles. I think very often of 
 these horrible things, as you call 
 them, but I am not afraid to be alone, 
 neither am I melancholy. And, 
 Miss Lucy, we must think o\ these 
 things some time or other, if we- are 
 ever prepared to die. 
 
 Mrs. R. Pshaw ! Are we not told 
 that God is merciful? It is time 
 enough yet. When we are taken 
 sick, we may call to God for mercy. 
 
 Charles. Ah, madam, very often 
 people die who have no time to call 
 for mercy. It is true, God is merci 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. Ml 
 
 rul, and he shows his mercy in spar- 
 ing us so long, and giving us so 
 marj opportunities. But if we 
 neglect them all, it will be very just 
 m him to cut us off suddenly. 
 
 Mrs. R. Now let us stop. For, to 
 tell the truth, I am not pleased with 
 this canting way of talking. 
 
 So they changed the subject ; but 
 Charles felt that he had done what 
 his conscience directed, by talking 
 in this sincere manner. And it was 
 wise for him to do so, on another 
 account. For if he had not given 
 the real reason why he did not join 
 them in their worldly amusements, 
 but had stated some other cause, 
 they ndght ha\ e removed this Cduse, 
 
142 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 and then he would have had nothing 
 to say. Many young persons are 
 ashamed to say that they are kept 
 from dancing or card-playing by the 
 fear of God; they make other ex 
 cuses for not joining their giddy 
 friends ; and thus they are either led 
 into temptation, or very much mor- 
 tified in the end The proper way 
 in such a case, when we are tempted 
 to do wrong, is to tell the truth, the 
 whole truth, and nothing but the 
 truth. 
 
 In the midst of all these things, 
 every one of the family aJmiied 
 Charles for his manly frankness and 
 sincerity. They saw that he was 
 conscientious, and that nothing 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 143 
 
 would tempt him to do what he 
 thought wrong. They also saw that 
 he was happy ; indeed, that he w^as 
 much more uniformly cheerful than 
 any of them; and sometimes they 
 could not help thinkinor that it would 
 be better for them all if they thought 
 just as Charles Clifford did. 
 
 bat the holidays were drawmp' 
 near their close, and the boys set off 
 several days before they ended, to 
 spend a short time at the parsonage. 
 After w^hich they went on to the 
 academy, and engaged once more in 
 their studies. 
 
144 CHARLES CLIlfOKD. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The whole care of Charles Clif- 
 ford's education was committed to 
 Mr. Lee. He had examined his 
 young friend, to discover how much 
 he had learned, and was persuaded 
 that it would be proper to remove 
 liira from Mr. Carter's academy at 
 the end of the year. 
 
 When Charles returned, there was 
 a general jo}^ in the whole school. 
 Every one was glad to see him so 
 ruddy and strong. And both teachers 
 and scholars were pleased at the re- 
 turn of the best boy in the school. As 
 
^IllJIJik^l^ 
 
 '^ir^it;:^ t'''^t^<->. '.(^&'^'r?r-'^^^^'?S''-i<»r^ •s'^^^.-^^l?^^ 
 
 140 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 147 
 
 for Charles himself, he also was gra- 
 tified to get back to a place where 
 he might improve in learning. He 
 was still industrious and benevolent, 
 constantly endeavouring to make 
 those around him happy. 
 
 As he was walking out one day 
 in Mr. Carter's garden, he heard an 
 exclamation of distress from the foot 
 of a laro^e tree. On lookino^ in that 
 direction, he saw a white pigeon, 
 which seemed to have just escaped 
 from a basket. George and Kitty, the 
 children of Mr. Carter, were on the 
 grass near the tree. Kitty had fool- 
 ishly opened the basket, while her 
 brother lay asleep, and was vainly 
 stretching out her hand after the 
 bird. 
 
148 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 *' There now," said George " I 
 had such a pretty pigeon to give 
 you, and I just fell asleep under the 
 tree, when you came and let it fly 
 away. O, what a naughty, inqi^isi 
 live girl you are !" 
 
 ^' Come, come," said Charles, " I 
 can give you as many pigeons as 
 you want ; this loss need not trouble 
 you." 
 
 ^' Yes," said George, " but father 
 says that Kitty has too much curi- 
 osity, and she is always prying into 
 what does not belong to her." 
 
 "It is certainly wrong," said 
 Charles, " but you should not speak 
 more of it ; for Kitty is sufficiently 
 punished by los-ng the pretty pigeon. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 149 
 
 But if you will come with me, I will 
 show jou something much prettier 
 than the pigeon." 
 
 The children sprang up, and 
 taking hold of his hands, walked 
 with him till they came to the bank 
 of the stream which runs at the bot- 
 tom of the garden. As soon as they 
 came near, Kitty exclaimed, 
 
 '' O, Mr. Clifford ! what a beauti- 
 ful, beautiful boat! Pray whose is 
 it?" 
 
 George also said, 
 
 *' It is perfectly new. I never 
 
 saw it before. The paint is bright 
 
 and glossy. What a pretty red and 
 
 green ! And see the oars have nevei 
 
 been used." 
 
 13^ 
 
150 CHARLES CLIFFORB. 
 
 Kitty, What is that white cloth 
 for? 
 
 Charles. It is an awnino^ to be 
 spread over the boat, to keep off the 
 sun. 
 
 George, Do tell us whose boa 
 it is. 
 
 Charles. Cannot you read those 
 gilt letters on the stern ? 
 
 George. O, yes. I did not see 
 them before. 
 
 THE ACADEMY BARGE. 
 
 Charles Now read what is paint- 
 ed on the front part. 
 
 George. Presented to Mr. Car- 
 ter 13Y HIS GRATEFUL SCHOOL. 
 
 Charles. The boys of the school 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. J 51 
 
 liave all put their money together, 
 and have bought this little boat for 
 your good father. He often wants 
 to cross the creek, and it will be very 
 pleasant in summer-time to row up 
 and down the stream. Now, sup 
 pose you get in, and let me row you 
 a little way. 
 
 Accordingly the little children got 
 into the skiff, and Charles took the 
 oars, and rowed them along. It was 
 charming weather, and every thing 
 was green and lovely. The fish 
 darted by them with their scales 
 sparkUng in the sun. The swallows 
 flew about in circles, and skimmed 
 so near the water as to touch it with 
 their wings. On both sides of the 
 
152 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Stream there were wild roses and 
 honeysuckles; and in some places 
 the grape-vines hung over the water, 
 laden with fruit. When the sun 
 became a little w^armer, Charles 
 rowed along the shady side, where 
 It w^as delightfully cool. The child 
 ren could reach out and pull the 
 water-lilies, and look into the bird's- 
 nests in the branches near the wa- 
 ter's edge. They also heard the 
 thrush, and cat-bird, and robin, and 
 wood-lark sino^ino^ amono^ the leaves. 
 The scent of the woods and clo- 
 ver-fields was very pleasant ; and 
 every now and then they came to 
 an open place, and could look away 
 off at the meadows, and farms, and 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 153 
 
 groves. The children were charmed 
 with every thing they saw, and at 
 last asked Charles where he waa 
 going to take them. 
 
 " If we were to keep on," said 
 Charles, " we should at length reach 
 the Delaware river ; but we do not 
 wish to go so far. So I shall take 
 you back again." 
 
 George. We are much obliged to 
 you for this nice little ride. 
 
 Kitty. O, it is delightful ! The 
 woods, and flowers, and every thing 
 look so sweet. It makes me very 
 happy. 
 
 Charles. Do vou know who it is 
 
 .J 
 
 that makes all these things so beau- 
 tiful ? 
 
154 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Geo7'ge and Kitty. It is God. 
 
 Charles. And is it not He who 
 has given you eyes to see all this, 
 and made you able to enjoy it? 
 
 George. Yes, sir. 
 
 Charles. And is it not God who 
 has given you all the good things 
 you have in the world ? 
 
 Kitty. Yes, sir It is God who 
 gives us our father and mother, and 
 our food and clothes, and every thing. 
 
 Charles. Then, if God does all this 
 for you, I am sure you ought to love 
 him with all your heart. 
 
 George Yes, we ought indeed to 
 'ove God. Mother tells us so every 
 day, 
 
 Charles Your mother is a kind 
 5* 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 155 
 
 woman. She nursed me kindly aL 
 the time I was sick, and I shall nevei 
 forget it. You must take good care 
 to do whatever your mother tells you. 
 And you ought to be thankful to 
 God that you have parents who can 
 teach you what is good. 
 
 Kitty. Have you got a mother, 
 Mr. Clifford? 
 
 Charles. I had a mother, my dear, 
 Dut she is in heaven. 
 
 Kitty. O, is she dead? 
 
 Charles. Yes, she is. I remember 
 very well when she lay upon her 
 dying bed She said something to 
 me which has done me a great deal 
 of good I have never forgotten her 
 words. 
 
156 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 George. Pray, what did your mo- 
 ther say, Mr. Clifford? 
 
 Charles, She said, " My son, love 
 and serve God; remember your 
 dying mother's words, — ^love and 
 serve God." 
 
 Kttty. Did she never say any 
 more? 
 
 Charles. No; she died directly 
 afterwards. 
 
 Kitty. Have you any father, Mr. 
 Clifford? 
 
 Charles. I have no father in this 
 country ; and I do not know where 
 my dear father is. 
 
 Kitty. Does it not make you verv 
 sorry to think you have no father anc* 
 mother ^o talk to ? 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 157 
 
 Charhi, Sometimes I feel sad 
 but the Lord always takes care of 
 me, and keeps me from distress. 
 And if you will trust in God, he will 
 never leave you, nor forsake you. 
 But see there ; we have got almost 
 back to the foot of the garden ; and 
 now we must go up to the house, for 
 fear your mother should be anxious 
 about you. 
 
 It was in this way that Charles 
 was constantly endeavouring to do 
 good. He w^as never so happy as 
 when he was instructinor those who 
 were younger or more ignorant than 
 himself And he had the pleasure 
 of seeing that his efforts w^ere not 
 entirely useless. For several of the 
 14 
 
158 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 schoo. boys became quite serious, in 
 consequence of his conversations. 
 In particular, Burke, whom he had 
 saved from drowning, listened to 
 what he said, and became a very 
 diligent reader of the Bible. This 
 change took place from the time 
 when Charles was sick, and talked 
 with him. 
 
 Burke came one day into the gar- 
 den, where Charles was reading 
 under an arbour, and said to him, 
 
 " Clifford, I believe I am one of 
 tne most wretched fellows alive " 
 
 Charles. Why so, Burke ? 
 
 Burke. W / y , to tell you the plain 
 fruth, I am thinking what will be- 
 come of mv soui. 
 
CHARLES I LIFFORD. 159 
 
 Charles. I think it time you sliould 
 be so. But I dare say you know 
 where relief is to be found. 
 
 Burke. One thing I know, indeed; 
 that is, that I am a miserable sinner. 
 I am sometimes almost afraid to 2^0 
 to bed at night. And I am alarmed 
 when I look back at my past life. I 
 have had kind parents, good teach- 
 ers, and every want supplied ; but 
 .how have I repaid my Maker? I 
 have forgotten him, resisted him, 
 taken his holy name in vain, and 
 profaned his Sabbaths. 
 
 Charles. I know, my friend, that 
 there is real cause for you to mourn ; 
 but— 
 
 Burke. When I tnink of God's 
 
IGO CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 goodness, it cuts me to the heart. It 
 is even woise than thinking of l\is 
 ano^er. I see that it would have been 
 right for him to cast me away in my 
 sins. I see my vile ingratitude. I 
 see that I deserve to be forever 
 punished. 
 
 Charles. But is it not your desire 
 to serve God ? 
 
 Burke. (Weeping.) I have tried, 
 I have tried. I have prayed and 
 read, and made resolutions ; but the 
 more I try, the more I see of the 
 wickedness of my heart. I have 
 given up all hopes of making myself 
 holy. And I am trying just to lie 
 at the foot of God's throne, to let him 
 do with me as he will. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 161 
 
 Charles. My dear friend, do jou 
 
 ot hate sin, and desire to be deli- 
 
 ered from it ? 
 
 Burke. I do, I do ! 0, it seems to 
 
 me as if I would give worlds, if I 
 
 tiad tJiem, to be made pure and like 
 
 to God. 
 
 Charles. Remember that God so 
 loved the world, that he gave his only 
 begotten Son, that ?vhosoever helieveth 
 in him should not perish, hut have 
 everlasting life. 
 
 Burke. When I think of the Lord 
 Jesus Christ, it only makes my sms 
 seem so much blacker; for I have 
 reiected his offers so many times, 
 that I am afraid now he will not 
 receive me. 
 
 14^ 
 
162 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 Charles. That is doubting his 
 word. Him that cometh to me, says 
 he, / will in no wise cast out. Believe 
 in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou 
 ^halt he saved. This is true ; for it 
 is the declaration of God. 
 
 BiJ'ke. But do you think such a 
 sinner as T am, might dare to trust 
 m the Lord Jesus Christ? 
 
 Charles. Dare ! Certainly, the 
 vilest wretch livinor mi<>^ht dare. 
 Tlie hlood of Christ cleanseth from 
 all sin. And this is a faithful say- 
 tng, and worthy of all acceptation, 
 that Jesus Christ came into the world 
 to save sinners, of whom (said the 
 apostle Paul) / am chief. 
 
 Burke. Then you think the Lord 
 Jesus would not f^ast me away ? 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 163 
 
 Charles. Surely not ! And tho 
 suspicion of such a thing is very 
 wicked ; especially when he has 
 laid down his life for sinners. All 
 things are ready, if you are only 
 willing to submit yourself to the 
 righteousness of Christ. 
 
 Burke. But my heart is so hard. 
 I am not penitent enough. I have 
 not mourned enough for my sins, 
 and my heart seems just as wicked 
 as ever. 
 
 Charles. But, my dear friend, do 
 you not expect to buy Christ'^ 
 fav^our ? I know your heart is hard 
 and wicked, and you need pardon , 
 but how do you expect to get it if 
 you stay away from the Saviour? 
 O, come now, come at once; give 
 
164 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 yourself up to Jesus, just as you 
 are ; believe in him, and all your 
 sins shall be blotted out. 
 
 Burke. I am afraid to cast myself 
 on Christ, lest he should reject me. 
 
 Charles. But surely your pros- 
 pect is not any better by staying 
 away. Can you make your heart 
 any better? 
 
 Burke. What you say convinces 
 me that I have been wrong, and 
 that I ought immediately to repent 
 and believe. 
 
 Charles. Then, let us go to a 
 private place^ where we may en 
 gage in prayer, and I trust you wil/ 
 at once secure the favour of God 
 by faith ii: him. 
 
 The two youths retired to a secrei 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD 165 
 
 place, and knelt down. Charles 
 prayed with great earnestness, but 
 in a simple way, that his friend 
 might be made a child of God. And 
 while he was praying he could hear 
 that Burke was weeping and sob- 
 bing. When the prayer was over, 
 Burke threw his arms around 
 Charles' neck, and said, 
 
 '' I think I do believe in Christ ! 
 I see that he is able and willing to 
 save me. I trust in him, and lean 
 on him alone for salvation. Pre- 
 cious, precious Saviour ! I will give 
 him all I have, and all I am — " 
 
 Charles was more thankful than 
 words could express, at this change 
 in the mind of Burke. They were 
 now constantly together, reading, 
 
166 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 praying, and singing the praises ol 
 God. The change which had taken 
 place was noticed by the whole 
 school. Burke had been the rinor- 
 leader in all mischief, a bully, and 
 a profane swearer. Now he was 
 gentle as a lamb. He had been 
 formerly very idle ; now he was 
 diligent and attentive. He spoke to 
 many of his acquaintances, and told 
 them how great his happiness now 
 was. Before long he persuaded 
 several of them to join with Clifford 
 and himself, every day, in a meet 
 mg for reading and prayer; and 
 there were several who became 
 serious inquirers after the truth, aa 
 H is in Christ Jesus. 
 
CHARLES CLIFi'ORD. 169 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mary Clifford was much be 
 loved by Mr. Lee and his family 
 She was two years older than Hoa- 
 rietta Lee^ and the little girls spent 
 much of their time together, in 
 study and in play. One day Mary 
 was sitting in the piazza by her 
 table, with her hand upon her 
 forehead, and with a very sad 
 countenance. She was silent, and 
 the tears stood in ner eyes. Hen- 
 rietta had been romping about 
 the yard, but when she saw Mary 
 look so sorrowful she came to her. 
 and leaning affectionately upon hei 
 
 15 
 
170 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 arm, then said, while she lookeo 
 up in her face, 
 
 '' Mary, you look very sorrowful ; 
 has any thing happened to you'^" 
 
 Mary. No, my dear ; 1 was only 
 thinking. 
 
 Henrietta. But you must tell me 
 what you were thinking about. 
 
 Mary. I was thinking of several 
 thino^s ; but v/hat made me sad was 
 thinking of my dear father and 
 brother. 
 
 Henrietta. I wish your father 
 would come home, for then you 
 would look so cheerful ! and you 
 would take us all to Riverbank — 
 would you not ? 
 
 Mary. Yes, we should all be 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 171 
 
 glad. But I do not know wLr;n lie 
 will be back. If Charles was here 
 we might at least please ourselves 
 with taking him. 
 
 Henrietta. O, you will soon see 
 Charles, for father says he will 
 return next Saturday. 
 
 Mary. Indeed ! I did not know 
 that he would come so soon. Then 
 w^e must go to woik, Henrietta; for 
 you know we promised to have his 
 room all ready for him. 
 
 Henrietta. Yes, we must clean 
 the glass of the pictures, and dust 
 the books, and have the flower-pots 
 in the windows. I wish I had a 
 brother, Mary. 
 
 Mary. You had a brother owe- 
 
172 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Henrietta^ but he is now in heaven 
 and if you love the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, you will see him there. 
 
 Henrietta. You seem to love 
 your brother Charles very much : 
 better than anybody in the world. 
 
 Mary. Yes, I love him, indeed, 
 better than any one except my fa- 
 ther. He is a good brother to me, 
 and he is the only one I have. He 
 is always trying to do me some good, 
 and to teach me something useful. 
 And when he is here, we spend so 
 many pleasant hours together, that 1 
 do not know how to do without him. 
 
 Thus it was that this affectionate 
 girl used to talk of her brother , and 
 she was impatient for his return 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. .73 
 
 Saturday soon arrived, and Mr. Lee- 
 sent his servant with a horse for 
 Charles. In the evening he rode 
 gayly up to the house, and jumping 
 off the horse, saluted his sister, and 
 aunt, and all the family. Then 
 there was glee and rejoicing until a 
 late hour of the evening. 
 
 Charles and Mary were now in- 
 separable. He was not to go to 
 school any more, and therefore had 
 abundance of time to give lessons to 
 his sister. As soon as he returned, 
 he began to lay plans for this. He 
 drew up a little paper, in a beautiful 
 handwriting, and put it in a frame 
 over Mary's table. This contained 
 tha rules foi the day ; so many hours 
 15* 
 
174 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 for reading, so many for writing and 
 arithmetic, so many for work, so 
 many for exercise, so many for mu- 
 sia, and so many for reading the 
 Bible. This last he thought the 
 most important, for he was desirous 
 that his sister should improve in 
 Christian knowledge. 
 
 When their studies wtto over 
 they used to walk in the garden and 
 orchard, and gather the fruits which 
 were then in season. But their 
 favourite walk was on the banks of a 
 little brook which ran through the 
 meadows behind the parsonage. 
 The sweet-mint grew plentifully 
 along the eiges, and gave a delight- 
 ful smeli. The alders and rose 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 175 
 
 bushes stood in o-reen thickets alons" 
 the sides of the brook, and were 
 often filled with sino^inor-birds. And 
 where the stream ran into the woods 
 there was a fine shady walk on both 
 sides, with rough seats made of 
 trees, at proper distances, where 
 they might rest themselves. The 
 water ran over the pebbles with a 
 gentle, whispering sound, which 
 was very agreeable. 
 
 At the season when Charles re- 
 turned, the leaves were beo^inninor to 
 fall, and the woods had an appear- 
 ance which no painter could imitate. 
 There was every colour of the rain- 
 bow in the leaves, and every tree 
 bad a coloui o' its own. Charles 
 
176 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 taught nis sister to distinguisn the 
 bright scarlet of the maple, the 
 blood-red of the dog- wood, the rusty 
 hue of the several kinds of oak, ana 
 the yellow of the hickory. He 
 showed her how the leaves of some 
 trees, like the beech, remained on 
 almost all winter, and how the rot- 
 ting leaves made the ground richer 
 for the next year. He pointed out 
 to her many of the plants which Mr. 
 Carter had taught him to know ; 
 such as many kinds of golden rod, 
 which bloom in autumn: the spatter- 
 dock, or sagitaria, which si »reads its 
 oroad leaves on the ponds, and has 
 two diiferent kinds of flovvrs; and 
 the ferns, which have no flow * » s at ail 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 177 
 
 Mary was delighted with all this. 
 Indeed, she would have been de- 
 lighted with almost any thing which 
 her brother taught her ; for she was 
 pleased to be with him, and to talk 
 with him They truly loved one 
 another, as every brother and sister 
 should do ; and this was the way to 
 be really happy. When one of them 
 was glad, the other w^as always sure 
 to partake of the gladness ; and each 
 tried to comfort the other under any 
 sorrow. 
 
 The two elder daughters of Mr. 
 Lee were very amiable young ladies, 
 who had received a good education. 
 They took great pains to assist Miss 
 Clifforr in teaching Mary; and in 
 
178 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 return, Mary loved and respectea 
 them. The little girl had been try- 
 in o^ for a lono^ time to think of some 
 j^ay in which she might please these 
 kind young ladies. At last she ap- 
 plied to Charles to help her, and 
 he proposed the following plan : 
 
 " If you wdll make two little nee- 
 dle-cases of white satm," said he, '*I 
 will paint pictures and names upon 
 the outside of them." 
 
 "I cannot sew well enough," said 
 Mary. 
 
 ''Then," replied he, "you must 
 get aunt Esther to help you, and we 
 will not let any one know until they 
 are finished." 
 
 Charles had a genius for drawing 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 179 
 
 and painting, so that the drawing- 
 master at the academy used to say 
 that he ought to be a painter. 
 Charles laughed at this notion, but 
 still, he often amused himself and 
 his friends with his pencil. When 
 the little needle-cases were done, he 
 took them into his room, and began 
 to make his pictures. On one of 
 them he drew a representation of 
 Rivei'hank, and with the words, For 
 Miss Caroline Lee. On the other he 
 put a view of the Parsonage, with 
 the words, For Miss Jane Lee. They 
 then wrapped them up carefully, 
 and laid them upon the table of the 
 young ladies. Mary did not intend 
 te say any thing about it; for she 
 rished to surprise her friends. 
 
180 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Several days passed, and ever^ 
 time the ladies came into the room, 
 Charles and Mary expected some- 
 thing to be said about the presents 
 But not a word was uttered upon 
 the subject. At last, Mary became 
 so impatient, that she said to her 
 aunt, 
 
 "I wonder that Miss Jane ana 
 Miss Caroline never say any thing 
 about the needle-cases !" 
 
 "I am surprised too," said Miss 
 Cliflford ; "I think I must ask them 
 about it." 
 
 So she inquired, and found that 
 they had never seen them at alJ 
 They could not imagine who could 
 nave taken them, but Mrs. Lee said 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. L81 
 
 she suspected a little girl who had 
 lately come to the house as a ser- 
 vant. When the thing came to be 
 inquired into, it appeared that Hen- 
 rietta had seen the little servant-girl 
 with a needle-case of this kind. So, 
 Sally was called, and though she 
 denied liaving any such thing, yet 
 when Mrs. Lee brought them down 
 from her chamber, all soiled and 
 rained, she confessed that she had 
 taken them. 
 
 When Mary saw her beautiful 
 work thus defaced, she became quite 
 angry; her face became very red, 
 and at lengrth she burst into tears. 
 Charles also was more concerned tor 
 
 his sister's disappointment, than if 
 16 
 
182 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 it had been his own loss; he there 
 fore turned round to the child, and 
 said, very roughly, 
 
 '' You are a wicked little thief! 
 and I hope you will be punished." 
 
 Miss Clifford took him gently by 
 the arm, and said, 
 
 " Charles, Charles ! you are too 
 warm ; you should speak more 
 gently." 
 
 Charles blushed, and said, 
 
 " I confess I spoke too hastily. I 
 should have remembered that per- 
 haps this little girl has never had 
 any instruction. And, now, Mrs. 
 Lee, I beg that you will not turn 
 her out ol the family on this ac- 
 count." 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 183 
 
 After some conversation with the 
 child, Mr. Lee was convinced that 
 it was her first offence, and at 
 Ciianes' request he suffered her to 
 remain in the house. 
 
 When Charles and Mary went to 
 walk in the afternoon, they began 
 to talk about this matter. And their 
 conversation led to other thino-s of 
 more importance. Therefore, I wall 
 conclude this chapter bj putting 
 down what they said. 
 
 Charles. I am sorrj^ tliat I be- 
 came so angry to-day with pooi 
 Sally, for I am sure she is sorr^ 
 enough for what she has done. 
 
 Mary But, then I do not wondei 
 at you being angry to see all youi 
 
L84 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 beautiful work soiled with her dirty 
 fingers ; so we have had all our trou 
 ble for nothing. 
 
 Charles. No, I hope it is not for 
 nothing. I hope we shall both learn 
 from tills not to speak before we 
 think, and also to make allowances 
 for poor children, who have not had 
 our advantages. 
 
 Mary. But, brother, do you not 
 think it was a great sin ? 
 
 Charles. Certainly. But, then w^e 
 must remember that Sally has had 
 nobody to teach her, as we have 
 had. She cannot read in the 
 Bible; and Mr. Lee says her 
 father is a wretched drunkard. O, 
 sister, we ought never to forget 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 185 
 
 liovv greatly wo have been favoured 
 When we were very small children 
 our parents used to spend many 
 hours in ^caching us. 
 
 Mary. I know that very few have 
 had such advantages. 
 
 Charles. Do you remember when 
 father used to take us upon his 
 knee, and tell us Scripture stories? 
 
 Mary. O, yes. And it makes me 
 sad to think about those days. It 
 was so delightful to be at River- 
 bank. And I remember how we 
 used to sit in the arbour on the 
 summer evenings, and sing hymns. 
 
 Charles. We ought to be thank- 
 
 Uil for those days ; perhaps we 
 
 ©hall never have any more like 
 
 Uem. 
 
 16* 
 
JS6 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 Many. I wonder if our dear father 
 will ever come home ! O, brother, 
 what do you think has become of 
 him? 
 
 Charles. Indeed, I am as igno- 
 rant about it as you are. Mr. Lee 
 thinks that we shall very soon hear 
 something, because the war has 
 stopped in Spain and Portugal, 
 where father had some thouo^hts of 
 
 oromor. 
 
 Mary. O, brother, perhaps he 
 has been killed ! 
 
 Charles. Mary, you must rem em 
 lier that we are all in the hands of 
 the Lord I remember very well, 
 that before our dear father \vent 
 awav, we all knelt down and asked 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 1S7 
 
 the blessing of God upon his voyage, 
 And we have all prayed every day 
 for the same thing. Now, I hope 
 God has answered these prayers, and 
 that father will return again. 
 
 Mary. But what if he should 
 never return ? 
 
 Charles. That is dreadful to think 
 of. But we must ask grace of the 
 Lord to help us in every time of 
 trouble. God is the Father of the 
 fatherless. He took care of us 
 when our dear mother died. O, 
 how well I remember that sad 
 night, when I saw her on her dying 
 bed ! You were too small to be 
 vhere, Mary ; but I can never forge* 
 It. Do you remember your mother • 
 
188 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Mary. I can ju^t remember her. 
 but I was too young to know mucn 
 
 Charles. I think I see her now 
 sitting by the window, where she 
 used to look out on the river, when 
 she was too feeble to walk. She 
 was so pale and thin, and her voice 
 was so weak, that it made me 
 always sorry to see her. 
 
 Mary. Did she speak to you 
 when she was on her death-bed ? 
 
 Charles. Yes, Mary ; and I dare 
 say that what she said to me was 
 meant for yoii too. Aunt Esther 
 waked me up before day, and took 
 me into the room. I could just 
 hear my dear mother's voice, when 
 she stretched out her hands, and 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 189 
 
 said, ''My son — my son, love and 
 serve God — remember your djino- 
 mother's words — love and serve 
 God." And then she fell into the 
 nurse's arms, and after I liad kissed 
 her cold lips, she died. O ! I shall 
 remember it as long as I live. 
 
 When Charles said these thino-s, 
 Mary leaned her head against his 
 arm, and began to weep. Charles 
 also wept, and it was some time 
 before they could go on with their 
 conversation. At last he said, 
 
 ''What a blessing it is to have 
 pious parents ! Then, even if they 
 are taken away from us, we may 
 be sure they have gone to heaven; 
 and if we believe in the Saviour 
 we shall meet them ajrain." 
 
190 CHARI.es CLIFFORD. 
 
 Marij. That is true. Poor Sally's 
 father is a profane, drunken man, 
 and if he dies, she can never have 
 any comfort in thinking of him. 
 
 Charles. The way for us to feei 
 always happy, is to trust in the 
 Lord. Then we know that every 
 thing will happen aright. We will 
 not forget to pray every day for our 
 dear absent father, and I hope before 
 Ions: that we shall have some news 
 from him. 
 
 Mary. O, brother, it w^ould be 
 almost too good — too happy to think 
 of, if father should come back again. 
 Then we should all live together ai 
 Riverbank. 
 
 Charles. Yos, it would indeed be 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 191 
 
 a great happiness ; and perhaps our 
 heavenly Father will give ns this 
 great blessing. But whatever he 
 loes, v^e know will be right and 
 merciful. 
 
 Mary. Perhaps we have never 
 been thankful enough for our good 
 things. 
 
 Charles. I am sure we nave not. 
 We are never thankful enough for 
 favours. We deserve nothing at 
 all, and instead of complaining, we 
 should be giving thanks. We do 
 very little in return for all our 
 mercies. 
 
 Mary. Brother, you say we ough 
 always to be trying to do good ; sup- 
 pose I begin this very evening to 
 teach poor Sally to read. 
 
192 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 Charles. I am glad jou thought 
 of it. You may do her a great deal 
 of good, and it will be the best way 
 of showing her that you have no ill- 
 will against her for what she has 
 d one- 
 It was now bemnnino^ to ^row 
 dark, and Charles and Mary return- 
 ed to the house, where they found 
 all the happy family collected. After 
 a pleasant evening, they engaged in 
 the worship of God, and then retired 
 to rest 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. I OH 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Im the midst of all the anxiety 
 
 which Charles felt about his father, 
 
 he employed himself in trying to do 
 
 good ; for he thought this would be 
 
 the best way to prevent sadness and 
 
 gloom. He knew that it was not 
 
 common for very young persons to 
 
 go about visiting the poor, but he 
 
 did not think this w^as any good 
 
 reason why he should not obey our 
 
 Saviour's command. Therefore, he 
 
 found out many suffering families, 
 
 and procured rehef for them. Bin 
 
 there was another method of useful- 
 17 
 
104 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 ness, of which I shall now give an 
 account. 
 
 There was a week of uncommonly 
 warm weather in the autumn of this 
 year, and the young people spent 
 most of their time in the open air. 
 One afternoon Miss Caroline and 
 Miss Jane were sitting on one of the 
 seats in the grove, under a fine shady 
 bank, when Charles came walking 
 towards them in company with a 
 little boy from the neighbouring 
 farm. 
 
 " I have brought James Temple 
 to see you," said Charles; and seat- 
 ing himself upon the grass, he began 
 to explain his plan, which was, thai 
 each of them should try to get seve- 
 
CHARLES CIIFFORD. 195 
 
 ral scholars by the next Lord's-day 
 and that they should then begin to 
 teach. 
 
 *' But where will you teach ?" said 
 Mary. 
 
 James. O, my father says the up- 
 per room in the old mill is never 
 used for any thing, and it is very 
 nice and clean. 
 
 Caroline. That is just the place! 
 For there are a number of poor fa- 
 milies around there, and their child- 
 ren need instruction very much. 
 
 James We do not know what to 
 do for books, but I hope Mr. Lee 
 will hel]) us. 
 
 Carolim, We can gather a fev/ 
 bookj^ to begin with among tno 
 
i96 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 neighbours, and when father ^roes to 
 the city next week, he can get us 
 as many as we want. 
 
 Jane. Yes, we will all put in our 
 pocket money to buy books ; and all 
 the good people in the neighbour- 
 hood will help on. 
 
 Mary. Do you think I am big 
 enough to teach in the Sunday- 
 school ? I can teach the A, B, C. 
 
 Jane. Yes, certainly. You may 
 have two or three little girls, w^io do 
 not know their letters. 
 
 Charles. And as Miss Caroline is 
 the eldest among us, and knows the 
 most, she shall be our superintend 
 ent. 
 
 Caroline I am very willing to do 
 
CHA.RLES CLTFiORD. 197 
 
 what I can, until you. can get a bet 
 er person. 
 
 So the plan was arranged, and the 
 next morning they all set out to visit 
 the neighbours, and try how many 
 scholars they could get. Their vi- 
 sits were received in very different 
 ways at the different houses. Some 
 of the people said, that they could 
 not see anv use in learnino^ to read, 
 and that their children should not 
 go. Others said, that they thought 
 there must be some evil intended, 
 for they did not suppose these young 
 [)eople would be so ready to take all 
 this trouble for nothino^. Some 
 made this excuse, that their children 
 
 had no olothes fit to go out in. 
 
 17* 
 
198 CHA.RLES CLIFFORD 
 
 Others said, that they wished their 
 little beys and girls to stay at home, 
 to help them at their work. But in 
 a number of houses they found 
 children who ao^reed to come. 
 
 The young people were very 
 much taken up with their plan, and 
 when the day arrived for beginning, 
 they all set off very cheerfully for 
 the mill. It was about a mile from 
 the parsonage, but they were all 
 fond of walking, and arrived there 
 at a very early hour. Here they 
 met Miss Temple and James, and 
 found a number of little boys and 
 ofirls, who looked very clean and 
 neat. They had thirteen scholars 
 to begin with. To each of these 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 199 
 
 thoy gave a hymn-book and a New 
 T(3stanient, with a spelling-book to 
 such as could not read. Miss Caroline 
 examined them all, to see how much 
 they knew, and then divided them 
 into little classes. Miss Temple had 
 three of the larger girls. Miss Jane 
 had also three. And Mary under- 
 took to teach little Sally, whom slie 
 broujrht alono^ w^ith her. Charles 
 cOok the four larger boys, and James 
 Temple agreed to instruct the two 
 smallest boys in the school, who 
 were the sons of the miller. 
 
 MissCaroline went from one class 
 to another, and explained the way in 
 which they were to learn. She gave 
 each of the teachers a little book, in 
 
200 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 which they were to write down the 
 names of the scholars, and mark 
 when they were absent. She told 
 them that in a few weeks they would 
 have a librarj^, with a number of 
 good Sunday-school books, and tha^ 
 each scholar who behaved well 
 might take a book home, and keep 
 it all the week. 
 
 Some of the children did not know 
 how to behave themselves at first. 
 They had never been to school be- 
 fore, and they whispered and ran 
 about without leave. But when Miss 
 Caroline explained to them that this 
 was wrong, they al seemed desirous 
 to be quiet. Both the teachers and 
 scholars were very much pleased 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 20j 
 
 and it was a beautiful sight to behold 
 a number of children beginning to 
 learn the way of life. When they 
 were nearly through their lessons, 
 Mr. Lee rode up to the door, and, 
 getting off his horse, came in with a 
 smiling countenance. He shook 
 hands with all the children, and 
 asked about their parents. He also 
 gave some little books to such as 
 could read, and heard some of them 
 recite. Then he told them all to 
 close their books, while he made a 
 short address to them. He told them, 
 that as their teachers were quite 
 young, he intended to take the school 
 under his own particular care, and 
 that they might expect to see him 
 
202 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 theie every Lord's-day. And then 
 he read a hymn for them to sing 
 and offered up prayer ; after which 
 the school was dismissed. 
 
 There was not one of the teachers 
 who was not glad that this school 
 had been formed. They now had 
 something to employ their minds all 
 the week, and they felt a strong hope 
 that they might do some good. On 
 the Sabbath evening, when the 
 family were collected for evening 
 prayers, Mr. Lee spoke to them as 
 follows : 
 
 " My dear children, I feel thankful 
 that we have another Sunday-school, 
 and that so many of my family are 
 engaged in this good work. Now, 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 203 
 
 f wish you all to remember, that it 
 is a very serious thing to try to teach 
 others. You are about to teach tnese 
 children to read the Scriptures, the 
 word of God, and to understand 
 what the Bible means. You must 
 be careful never to forget this ; and 
 you must always attend to those 
 things which you teach others. It 
 would be dreadful if any of you 
 should show these children what 
 they ought to do to be saved, without 
 doing it yourselves. All your teach- 
 ing will do no good without the 
 blessing of God. Therefore, you 
 should constantly pray for the souls 
 of the children, and try in every way 
 to lead them to the Lord Jesus Christ 
 
204 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 And during the week, it will be very 
 right for you to go and see them, 
 and talk with them, and show them 
 how to get their lessons." 
 
 On Monday morning, Charles 
 went to see his little scholars, and 
 talked with their parents. He also 
 found several other children who 
 agreed to come to the school. The 
 other teachers did the same thing, 
 so that on the next Lord's-day they 
 had more than thirty scholars. It 
 began to be talked about among the 
 neighbours, and a namber of grown 
 persons came to see the school. 
 There were various opinions on the 
 subject. Some said it was a very 
 good thing, while others ridiculed it, 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. :205 
 
 and said that nothing could be learned 
 by going to school two or three hours 
 m the week. But they soon saw 
 their mistake; for some of the pa- 
 rents said that their children learned 
 more on Sunday than in all the rest 
 of the week put together. And as 
 the little boys and girls were not 
 forced to learn, but did every thing 
 of their own accord, it was surprising 
 to see with what pleasure they got 
 their lessons. 
 
 Charles remembered Mr. Lee's 
 advice, and took care to talk with 
 every one of his scholars privately. 
 He tried to make them understand 
 that they were sinners, and that tht 
 Lord Jesus Christ had died to save 
 18 
 
206 CHARLES CI [FFORD 
 
 the souls of men. And some of the 
 little boys seemed very much affected 
 with what he said, and often shed 
 tears. It was not long before their 
 books came, and then they had a 
 library. Mr. Hope, the carpenter, 
 made and presented them a neat 
 bookcase ; and the girls put strong 
 covers upon tlie books, to keep them 
 from being injured. When the 
 children took the books home, their 
 fathers and mothers often read them, 
 and Mr. Lee used to say that this 
 made many come to church who hac* 
 never come before. 
 
 "The more Sundav-schools I have," 
 said he, " the more people come ou 
 .0 the worship of God." 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 207 
 
 But there are many persons in the 
 country who do not hke Sunday 
 schools, and who do every thhi? 
 they can to oppose them. The 
 reason of this is, that tliey are ere- 
 mies to all religion, and do not w^ish 
 to be disturbed in their sins. There 
 was a person of this description in 
 the neighbourhood of the parsonage. 
 This was Dr. Milton, an elderly 
 man, wdio had spent most of his life 
 in practising medicine, dux was now 
 living on his farm. He was verv 
 rich, and used to pass his time in 
 pleasures of every kind. He was 
 fond of drinking, and card-playing, 
 and horse-racing, and w^ent from one 
 tavern to another, where he could 
 
208 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 (iiid jolly companions. He was so 
 rough and unfriendly in his man- 
 ners, that very few people liked him, 
 though many feared him on account 
 of his wealth. 
 
 One Sabbath mornino^, whenthev 
 were all busily engaged in their 
 school, Doctor Milton galloped up to 
 the house. He came in suddenly, 
 without taking off his hat, and look- 
 ed so stupid in the face, that Miss 
 Lee supposed he was a little intoxi- 
 cated. The truth was, he had just 
 taken enough of liquor to make him 
 rude and ill-natured. Miss Lee 
 placed a chair for him, but he took 
 no notice of it. He walked about 
 among the children, with a very 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 209 
 
 contemptuous look. The teachers, 
 after speaking to him politely, went 
 n with their lessons. After some 
 time, he threw himself into a chair. 
 and seemed to be laughing at every 
 thing he saw. At last he burst into 
 a loud laugh. 
 
 ''Ha! ha! ha! fine work," said 
 he, " fine work for young ladies, to 
 be cominof to an old mill, to teach a 
 parcel of dirty children." 
 
 *' We are trying to do them good,'' 
 said Miss Lee ; " and I believe there 
 is no harm in teaching them the 
 Scriptures." 
 
 " Teaching them a fiddlestick !'* 
 said he, and broke out again in a 
 roar of laughter. " Teaching them 
 18* 
 
210 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 to be a set of whining hypocrites, 
 you nad better say !" 
 
 The teachers were very much 
 disturbed by his behaviour, and the 
 scholars scarcely knew what to 
 think of it. Tue little ones giggled, 
 and some who were larger seemed 
 frightened. But the doctor went on. 
 
 *' Young ladies," said he, " I will 
 tell you the reason why you are so 
 good ; you wish to be admired." 
 
 Charles was much offended by 
 this remark ; and as the young la- 
 dies had no protector but himself, 
 his temper was excited more than 
 was common with him. He rose, 
 and said, 
 
 " Doctor Milton, your remarks are 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 211 
 
 very rude; this is ow school, and 
 you have no right to interfere with 
 It." 
 
 ' Pray, Mastef Independence,'* 
 said the doctor, "what might your 
 name be ? I do not remember that I 
 ever saw you before." 
 
 *' It makes no difference," said 
 Charles; "you have spoken in a 
 very ungentlemanly way, and w^e 
 desire that you would leave us." 
 
 The doctor then threatened to 
 strike him with his riding-whip, at 
 which Charles became very angry, 
 and said some things which were en- 
 tirely too harsh, and wiiich he was 
 sorry for afterwards. He then told 
 the aocioi that his name was Clif- 
 
212 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 ford, and that Captain Clifford \\'as 
 his father. The doctor seemed to 
 think then that he had gone too far 
 and marched out of the house. 
 
 When he had gone, Charles began 
 to think that he had not spoken in a 
 proper manner to Doctor Milton. 
 And when he mentioned this to Miss 
 Lee, she said that Charles had been 
 too warm; and though the doctor 
 had behaved so little like a o^entle- 
 man, this did not excuse the anorer 
 of Charles. These things made the 
 young people think that they must 
 not expect to do good without meet- 
 ing with some opposition and ridi- 
 cule. But they very seldom met 
 with any thing so trying to their 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 213 
 
 f .eliiigs as this. Indeed, this person 
 Qever gave them any farther trouble, 
 and always seemed to be ashamed 
 of the manner in wliich he had 
 treated them. 
 
 The Sunday-school was a bless- 
 ing to the neighbourhood. It was 
 not long before several of the scho- 
 lars appeared to be deeply concerned 
 for the salvation of their souls. And 
 some of the parents learned things 
 from their children which they had 
 never known before, and which 
 made them think very seriously. 
 The idle, dirty children who used 
 to be playing about the waj^side, and 
 making a noise every Sabbath, were 
 now seen, neat and quiet, going to 
 
214 CHARLES CIIFFORD. 
 
 the school. The teachers also \\ ere 
 more and more pleased with theii 
 work. They found that they learned 
 a great deal by teaching others ; and 
 they had the constant pleasure of 
 knowing that they were doing some 
 good. 
 
 Thus the autumn passed away, 
 and the cold weather began to come 
 on. When the nio^hts became longr 
 and it was too cold to be much 
 out of doors, the family used to 
 collect after tea every evening for 
 reading. They took turns in reading 
 aloud such useful and entertaining: 
 books as Mr. Lee chose for this pur- 
 pose. They read travels in various 
 parts of the world, and interesting 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 21.5 
 
 histories, besides the lives of many 
 good and great persons. Then they 
 would ask questions, and converse 
 together ; and thus the long winter 
 evenings passed by most pleasantly 
 Mr. Lee also took pains to sho\\ 
 them many beautiful experiments ir. 
 natural philosophy and chemistry 
 He procured an electrical machine 
 and an air-pump for this very pur- 
 pose, and spent a great part of his 
 time in giving them instruction. 1l 
 the bright winter nights, he used to 
 take the young people out, and show 
 them the different constellations into 
 ^vhich tlie stars are divided, and also 
 the moon through a telescope. 
 ''^hus ttiey were learning more 
 
216 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 and more every day, without ever 
 feelms: it to be a task. The labour 
 of study was rendered delightful, 
 and they were encouraged to go o'l 
 and learn still more. 
 
 Charles and Mary took the greats 
 est delight m the study of the 
 Holy Scriptures. They tried to 
 &nd out every thmg which could 
 nake them understand the Bible 
 more fully. And Mr. liCe assist- 
 ed them in tiiis, by getting maps of 
 the countries mentioned in Scrip- 
 ture, and books of travels which 
 describe them, together with vari- 
 ous accounts of the manners and 
 customs of eastern people. All these 
 tnings enabled them to teach their 
 
ClfARLES CLIFFORD. 217 
 
 Sunday scholars ; and every thing 
 which they learned, that could be 
 made use of in this way, they con 
 veyed to the little children. But in 
 the midst of all these comforts and 
 blessings, there was something lack 
 ing. They heard nothing of theii 
 father, and were ready to give up all 
 hope of seeing him. He was so ill 
 "when he went away, that they 
 thought it likely he had died in 
 .^ome strange place, and that they 
 should never hear of him. In this 
 trouble, they found no way of relief 
 out in laying theii sorrows before 
 {he Lord. 
 
 19 
 
218 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Captain Clifford had always 
 taken great p-^ins to keep his child- 
 ren from any superstitious notions. 
 For this purpose he never allowed 
 the servants to tell them any foolish 
 tales about signs, and tokens, and 
 witches. But notwithstanding all 
 this, it is certain that Mary had got 
 some things of this kind into her 
 head, which did her much harm. 
 
 One morning, when Miss Esther 
 Clifford was sewing by the parlour 
 fire, Mary came up to lier with a 
 very sad countenance, and with 
 tears in her eyes. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 219 
 
 " What can be the matter witn 
 you this morning ?" said Miss Clif 
 ford. 
 
 " O, aunt ! I am sure my dear 
 father is dead, and that we shal 
 never see him acrain." 
 
 Miss Clifford. But why do you 
 think so, Mary ? You are not a 
 prophetess, to foretell what shall 
 come to pass. 
 
 Mary. No; but this morning I 
 feel as I never felt before. I feel 
 sure that something is going to hap- 
 pen, almost as sure as if I saw it. 
 Something seems to say to me all 
 the time, " Your father is dead ! — 
 your father is dead !" I cannot get 
 *t out of my mind. 
 
220 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Miss C. This is an idle impres- 
 sion. It is what people call a pi^e-sen 
 timent. And it is what I call super- 
 stition. It is very unreasonable. 
 You ought to put your trust in the 
 goodness of the Lord, and not to give 
 way to such feelings. 
 
 Mary. I do try, but I cannot 
 help thinking so still. 
 
 Miss C. I am afraid somebody 
 has been putting this foolish notion 
 into your head. Now, come and tell 
 me the truth ; have not some of the 
 servants been talking to you about 
 this? 
 
 Mary. I will tell you the truth, 
 Aunt Esther. I have heard some* 
 thing, but not from the servants. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 221 
 
 Miss C. Who could have been so 
 wicked then as to talk to you in this 
 way ? 
 
 Mary, It was old Mrs. Carpenter, 
 whom we all used to call Granny. I 
 called in at her house with the vounor 
 woman who was coming here to sew. 
 
 Miss C. But you ought not to 
 call her Granny; she does not like it. 
 
 Mary. No, she does not. It was 
 
 that which made her angry with me, 
 
 and then she tried to frighten me. 
 
 She said she had had a dream, and 
 
 that she knew father would never 
 
 return. She also said, that their 
 
 lookino^-Hass had fallen down of 
 
 itself, and that an owl had screeched 
 
 by her window for three nights; and 
 19* 
 
2^ t CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 that this was always a si >'ii of death 
 amonor the neio^hbours. 
 
 3fiss C. And is it possible, Mary, 
 that you could believe this wicked 
 nonsense'^ 
 
 Mary. I did not exactly believe 
 it; but it is so long since we heard 
 from father, that it made me sad. 
 And then this thought came over 
 my mind, and I could not shake it 
 off. 
 
 Miss C. Now, my dear Mary, pu\ 
 all such notions out of your head at 
 once. God has always mercifully 
 provided for us, and he will still do 
 us good, if we trust in him. Be- 
 sides, if he wished us to know what 
 \vas going to happen, he would not 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 223 
 
 send an owl or a wicked old \^ oman 
 to tell us. Think no more of this, 
 lest you offend God; but go and 
 pray to him, and that will relieve 
 youi mind. 
 
 So, Mary became much more 
 cheerful, and sat down to her work 
 as usual. The next day was very 
 cold, but the morning was clear and 
 beautiful. Durinor the nio^ht there 
 had been rain and sleet, which had 
 covered all the trees and bushes with 
 a coat of ice. And when the child- 
 ren looked out after sunrise, it seem- 
 ed as if millions of diamonds and 
 other precious stones were hanging 
 upon the branches. The bright 
 weather and tie bracing: cold revived 
 
'224 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 every one's spirits, so that they eii« 
 ]oyed the wintry morning as much 
 as if it had been spring. At break 
 fast, they conversed w^ith much 
 cheerfulness, and even Mary was 
 full of glee. 
 
 After breakfast, they went to their 
 several employments. When they 
 came together again at dinner, they 
 took notice that Mr. Lee was miss- 
 ing. Upon inquiry, it was found 
 that he had received a letter in the 
 morning, and that he had instantly 
 ordered a carriage at the public 
 house. Charles said he now remem- 
 bered Mr. Lee's having said in the 
 morning, that several French pack- 
 ets were daily expected, and thai 
 
CHARLES CLFFFORD. 225 
 
 tney would perhaps have news from 
 his father. This made them all very 
 anxious, as Mr. Lee had said nothino: 
 when he went away. Miss Clifford 
 turned pale, and expressed some fear 
 lest the letter which had come con- 
 tained bad new^s. But Jane Lee 
 was sure this was not the case, for 
 she had seen her father w^hen he 
 read the letter ; and he never looked 
 more joyful in his life. He was, 
 indeed, in a great hurry, and could 
 scarcely find time to say a word, 
 but when he went away, he was far 
 from seeming melancholy. 
 
 These things did not entirely re- 
 move the anxiety of the family. 
 Miss Clifford shut herself up in hei 
 
226 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 room all the afternoon. Mary asked 
 a thousand mournful questions of all 
 the young people; and Charles, after 
 vainly trying to attend to what he 
 was reading, closed the book, and 
 paced up and down the floor for 
 several hours. At almost every 
 turn, he would look out of the win- 
 dow, as if he expected some one : 
 and at every sound of the carriages 
 which passed, he started and grew 
 pale. His thoughts were full of his 
 dear absent father. At last he re- 
 membered how often he had been 
 comforted by prayer. He therefore 
 went to his room, and after reading 
 several passages in the Bible, h^ 
 prayed to God to be gracious to him. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 227 
 
 and to prepare hirn for all his holy 
 will. Such was his anxiety of mind, 
 that his body became (j^nite weak, 
 and he trembled through his whole 
 frame. 
 
 It grew dark, and yet there was 
 nothing seen of Mr. Lee. At the 
 tea-table every one seemed to be 
 without appetite ; and when they sat 
 down as usual by the fire, no one 
 proposed to read aloud. At last a 
 carriage was heard to drive up. It 
 stopped ; the steps were let down, 
 and persons were heard talking 
 without. As they came near, Miss 
 Clifford, who had been breathless 
 with suspense started up, and ex- 
 claimed 
 
228 CHARLES CLIFFCRB. 
 
 *' It is my brother's voice !" 
 She rushed to the door, but 
 Charles had been before her, and 
 was clasped in his father's arms. It 
 was, indeed, Captain Clifford. He 
 seized his little daughter in a rapture 
 of parental affection, and scarcely 
 could believe it to be Mary, so much 
 was she grown and improved. The 
 joy of all was such, that they felt as 
 if it w^ere a delightful dream, and no 
 reality. Mr. Lee had received a 
 letter from Captain Clifford, stating 
 that he had just arrived at New 
 York, and desired to have a carriage 
 sont for him to a neio^hbourinor town. 
 He chose to take his family by srir- 
 grise. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 229 
 
 When the captain threw off his 
 
 cloak, they were rejoiced to see thai 
 
 11 appearance of ill-health ^vas gone 
 
 He was robust and fleshy, and his 
 
 countenance had the appearance of 
 
 strength and cheerfulness. He was 
 
 amazed and delighted to see Charles 
 
 grown up to be almost a man ; and 
 
 as for his little Mary, he could not 
 
 suffer her to be a moment away 
 
 from his side. There were so many 
 
 questions to be asked, that it was 
 
 very lonij before either side could 
 
 receiv^e much satisfaction. Mr. Lee 
 
 and his family sat in silence, not 
 
 willing to interrupt the joy of their 
 
 friends, but expressing by their 
 
 looks how truly they partook of the 
 
 pleasure. At last Mr. l,ee said, 
 20 
 
280 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 ' My dear sir, it will be the best 
 plan, I am sure, for you to give us 
 some account of your travels, with- 
 out any further questions." 
 
 '' I will very willingly do so," 
 said the captain ; " but, first of all, 
 let us kneel dow^n together, and do 
 you, my good sir, offer up thanks 
 giving to God for this joyful meet- 
 ing." 
 
 All were gratified vvith this pro- 
 posal, and when they arose from 
 their knees, there was scarcely one 
 whose eyes were not wet with tears 
 of joy. The following conversation 
 then took place. 
 
 Capt. Clifford. I suppose you re- 
 ceived the letters which I wrote 
 you from Marseilles ? 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 231 
 
 Aliss Clifford. One letter we re- 
 reived, being the first you wrote 
 after your arrival; and since that 
 time, we have never had even a 
 syllable to inform us of your beino- 
 alive. 
 
 Capt. C. Your anxiety must have 
 been great indeed, but God has, I 
 trust, taught us all to profit by our 
 afflictions. It would occupy the 
 whole nio^ht for me to mve even a 
 general account of all that I have 
 passed through; this I must defer 
 to some more favourable time. 
 
 Charles. Pray, inform us when 
 you began to recover your health. 
 
 Capt. C. As soon as I got fairly 
 out at sea, I began to feel better 
 
232 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 By the time we reached Marseilles, 
 raj cough had entirely left me ; and 
 though I was still weak, yet I con- 
 sidered myself free from disease. 
 The French physicians recom- 
 mended that I should travel into 
 Spain, and spend some months in 
 the southern provinces, where the 
 climate is very balmy. I deter- 
 mined to do so, but having exposed 
 myself to the rains in crossing the 
 mountains to get into Spain, I was 
 again seized with my cough, and 
 lay ill among strangers for several 
 months. This is one reason why 
 you did not hear from me. 
 
 Mr. Lee. We supposed that tht* 
 war in Spain and Portugal pre- 
 vented your letters from coming. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 233 
 
 Capt, C, That was the case, for 
 after I recovered, I went into Portu 
 gal, and was there when the British 
 army entered it. I was imprudent 
 enough to think, that as I w^as an 
 American, I should not be troubled ; 
 but I was always taken for an 
 Enoflishman, and w^as for a number 
 of months held as a prisoner of war. 
 
 Mari/. A prisoner! O, father, 
 did they put you in prison? Did 
 they put chains on you ? 
 
 Capt. C. No, my dear. I was 
 very kindly treated, but still I was 
 not suffered to go about, and I had 
 no opportunity of sending letters. I 
 wrote a great many, but now I find 
 you received none of them 
 20* 
 
234 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 Mis3 C, But now all is made up 
 to us, my dear Ijrother. We have 
 you here once more in perfect health, 
 and we can never be thankful enough. 
 But, Mary, what do you think now 
 of your signs, and tokens, and pre 
 sentiments ? 
 
 Mary was ashamed, and hung 
 down her head. The captain in- 
 quired what this meant, and then 
 taught her about it, as her aunt had 
 previously done. Then there were 
 many questions asked by him con- 
 cerning the way in which his son 
 and daughter had spent their time. 
 And it gave him the highest pleasure 
 that they had both conducted them 
 seives so well. He saw also tha.' 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 235 
 
 Charles was a serious and conscien- 
 tious boy, and that he would now bo 
 his companion in all that was good. 
 The evening flew swiftly away, 
 and at length it became necessary 
 for Mr. Lee to remind them that it 
 was time to retire to rest. After 
 family worship, they separated for 
 the night; but few of the family 
 could close their eyes to sleep. Joy 
 and gratitude agitated their bosoms. 
 Charles could not help looking back, 
 and reproaching himself for having 
 ever doubted the goodness of the 
 Lord. He now remembered how 
 often he had prayed for this favour, 
 and God had now been better to him 
 than all his fears. He had no words 
 
236 CHARLES CLIFFORD 
 
 to express his thankfulness, bat ho 
 endeavoured more solemnly than 
 ever before to give himself entirel^r 
 away to the service of God. 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WHE^ the next morning dawnea, 
 it seemed as if each one had endea- 
 voured to rise before the rest; for at 
 an earlier hour than commoa, they 
 were all gathered for the worship of 
 God. None was happier than Mary. 
 She was very small when her father 
 went away, and she had hardly 
 known how to prize him ; but now 
 she found him so tender and affec- 
 tionate, that she could scarcely leave 
 him at all. 
 
 When they were sitting around 
 tlie breakfast-table, the captain turned 
 to his good friend, and said, 
 
233 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 " Mr. Lee, I love your house very 
 much, and I can never repay you for 
 your kindness to my family ; yet. I 
 feel that this is not home ; and after 
 so lono[ an absence, I am stronof- 
 ly desirous to see Riverbank once 
 more." 
 
 *'I rejoice," said Charles, "to hear 
 you say so. There is no place I 
 shall ever love so much. And you 
 w^ill be pleased to see how neatly 
 every thing has been kept." 
 
 "Is old Roger alive and well''" 
 asked the captain. 
 
 " As brisk as a bee," said Charles, 
 " and he will scarcely be able to 
 contain himself when he hears of 
 your re\ irn." 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 239 
 
 " I shall take the good old folks by 
 surprise," replied Captain Clifford; 
 "for we are all going in the carriage 
 to Riverbank, as soon as you can get 
 yourselves ready, after breakfast." 
 
 " O, father !" said Mary, *' are we 
 o^oino: back to live there?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear ; for though I am 
 sorry to take you away from these 
 dear friends, yet they must remem- 
 ber how long I have been without 
 my children, and how long you have 
 been without vour father." 
 
 It took several hours for all to sret 
 ready to go. And then there were 
 many tears shed in taking leave of 
 the excellent family of Mr. Lee. 
 But the carriagce was at the door 
 
240 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 and finally it drove off, with Captain 
 Clifford, and his sister, son, and 
 daughter. As they drove along, he 
 could not refrain from lifting up his 
 hands, and giving thanks for the 
 mercy whicli had restored him to 
 his family. And every farm-house, 
 stream, and o^rove seemed to brinor 
 to his recollection things which had 
 happened many years before. 
 
 They now began to draw near to 
 their beloved home. The fields 
 which Captain Clifford now saw 
 belonged to his own estate, and 
 everv tree and hedo^e looked like an 
 old acquaintance. 
 
 "There " said he, "1 begin to see 
 the house, and the rioble old elms ; 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 24l 
 
 and yonder I see the broad river 
 stretching itself through the low 
 
 grounds '^ And then he dropped 
 
 a tear, for he called to mind the 
 dearest friend of his heart, who had 
 lived with him so long on this plea- 
 sant spot, and who was now, as he 
 trusted, in heaven. 
 
 When the carriage began to draw 
 near to the house itself, several of 
 the gardener's children saw it, and 
 running out, discovered who was 
 coming. They told the news, and 
 in a few minutes Roger and his wife 
 and all the children were collected, 
 to welcome Captain CUfford home. 
 It was pleasing to see the tears stand 
 in the old man's eyes as he shook 
 21 
 
242 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 the hand of the captain. And it 
 was plain that the meeting gave 
 pleasure on all sides. Captain Clif- 
 ford could scarcely be satisfied with 
 looking. While Roger was kindling 
 a fire in the dining-room, he stroll- 
 ed over the lawn, which was now 
 frozen, and through the grove of 
 oaks. He walked in the gardens, and 
 descended the steps to the edge of the 
 river. He gazed upon the lovely 
 prospect which he had surveyed so 
 often in other days, and could not 
 help saying, 
 
 " My children, see how good the 
 Lord is, how much better than we 
 deserve, and even than we expect. 
 For 1 dare say you often feared that 
 you should never see me again." 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 243 
 
 ** We did, indeed," said Charles , 
 ** and I hope we shall learn from 
 this, always to trust in Providence.'' 
 
 " That is riorht," said his father 
 *' I also had many fears that I should 
 never live to see you again; but 
 nere we are in happiness and love." 
 
 Then they went into the house, 
 and passed through each apartment. 
 The captain was filled with plea- 
 sure at the sight of his books and 
 his study. A plain dinner was soon 
 provided for them, and before many 
 hours, they all seemed as much at 
 home there as if they had never been 
 absent. 
 
 It is not necessary to give a par- 
 ticular account of the manner in 
 
244 CHARLES CLIrFORD. 
 
 which they passed their time. Cap 
 tain Clifford spent some weeks in 
 looking over the affairs of his farm^ 
 and receivino^ the visits of his neio^h- 
 hours. Then he began to make his 
 arrangements for the way in which 
 they were all to be employed. Miss 
 Clifford was to have the manage- 
 ment of the family, and the care of 
 Mary, who was to be instructed in 
 every thing necessary to housekeep- 
 ing. The captain intended to con- 
 tinue the instruction of his children 
 in useful knowledg^e. He meant to 
 keep Charles with him, until he 
 should be fitted for some kind of 
 active life. Especially, he took care 
 l.h it it should be a Christian family, 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 245 
 
 and that every thing should be 
 conducted according to the com- 
 mands of God. 
 
 After they had been well settled 
 for a little time, they received a visit 
 from Mr. Lee's family, whom they 
 loved as if they had been relations. 
 And for many years, the two fami- 
 lies used to go very frequently to see 
 one another. Charles also invited 
 several of his school-mates to come 
 and spend some time at Riverbank, 
 particularly Reynolds and Burke, 
 who stayed there several weeks. 
 
 But I must now bring my history 
 to a close. The reader has an ac- 
 count of a youthful Christian, and 
 It is not needful to follow him into 
 
 manhood. But as there are several 
 21* 
 
246 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 important lessons which may be 
 learned from this narrative, I shall 
 close with some account of these. 
 
 The young reader will here take 
 notice what a blessed thing it is to 
 have the instructions of pious pa- 
 rents. Charles Clifford never forgot 
 the truths which were tauo^ht him 
 by his pious mother. And her dying 
 words made an impression upon his 
 heart which was never lost. 
 
 This narration shows also that 
 those who serve God are not free 
 from afflictions. The persons who 
 have been here mentioned passed 
 through verj ^reat trials. But these 
 sufferings proved to be blessings 
 through the grace of God, and made 
 them more watchful and devout 
 
CHARLES CLIFFORD. 247 
 
 than they would otherwise have 
 been. So that the Lord turned all 
 their afflictions into rejoicing at last. 
 
 The story of Charles Cliff oid 
 shows that no young man will really 
 be a loser by trying to do what God 
 commands. Though he may be 
 opposed and ridiculed, yet in the 
 end even his enemies will approve 
 of his conduct. 
 
 We perceive, too, how much good 
 may be done, even by a very young 
 person, if he truly desires to glorify 
 God. By a holy example, by reli- 
 gious conversation, by teaching in 
 Sunday-schools, or in some similai 
 way, every one who reads this may 
 be useful. 
 
248 CHARLES CLIFFORD. 
 
 It also appears that it is true reli- 
 gion which makes a happy family. 
 How much happier was the house- 
 hold at Riverbank than those fami- 
 lies which are irreligious and care- 
 less ! Even when they were in 
 much anxiety and distress, they 
 were kept from despondency by 
 trust in the promises of God. 
 
 Lastly, if there is any thing in 
 the example of Charles Clifford 
 which is excellent and lovely, it is 
 the desire and prayer of the writer 
 that it may be imitated by every 
 voung person who reads this book. 
 
 THE END. 
 
Entftitved ti-iBiSe »g'".c . 
 
 • Faftier SifftSrt Blovrly bent his a^ed littibs.ar.d ?ai dovmby die side of a tocV' 
 
J/ 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 TO A 
 
 YOUNGER BROTHER, 
 
 ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS, 
 
 RBLATINQ TO 
 
 THE VIRTUES AND VICES, DUTIES AND 
 DANGERS OF YOUTH. 
 
 REVISED BY THE OOMMITTKE OP PtTBLICATION OF THB 
 AaiERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION. 
 
 AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION. 
 
 33!)ilaticlpl)ia: 
 
 146 CHESTNUT STBBBT 
 
Entered according lo Act of Congress, in the year 1838, by 
 Paul Beck, Jr., Treasurer, in trust for the American Sunday- 
 school Union, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the 
 Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 tETTER PAG* 
 
 I. On reading the Scriptures f 
 
 n. Gratitude to Parents 1? 
 
 in. Shortness of Life 2^, 
 
 IV. Holidays 30 
 
 V. Amusements 35 
 
 VI. Bodily Exercise 44 
 
 VII. Early Rising 51 
 
 Vin. Habit of Diligence 61 
 
 IX. Learn something every hour 71 
 
 X. Three self-taught Scotch Lads 83 
 
 XI. Formation of Habits 93 
 
 XII. Dangers of evil Company 101 
 
 XIIL Friendships 109 
 
 XIV. Good Example 118 
 
 XV. Truth and Falsehood 12? 
 
 XVI. Independence 134 
 
 XVIL False Shame 139 
 
 XVIIL Evil Speaking 14? 
 
 XIX. Benevolence 154 
 
 XX. Secret Prayer 164 
 
 XXI. The Great Concern 171 
 
LETTERS 
 
 TO A 
 
 YOUNGER BROTHER. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 READING THE SCRIPTURES. 
 
 My dear h'Otlier, — You gave me 
 much gratification when you in- 
 formed me that you were attentive to 
 the reading of the Scriptures. And 
 I rejoice to find you inquiring how 
 you may continue to read them with 
 greater profit. I shall answer your 
 questions, and shall also, from time 
 to time, write you some directions 
 on other things ; such as your learn- 
 ing, your manners, and your amuse- 
 ments. I take your questions as 
 you ask them. 
 
 1* 5 
 
6 LETTERS TO A 
 
 1. Ought I to read the Bible in 
 regular order ? 
 
 I think you ought. Not that this 
 should be your only way of reading * 
 but every day you should be going 
 forward. Suppose you were roam- 
 iTig through a beautiful estate, such 
 as the place on the Delaware where 
 Joseph Bonaparte resides ; and that 
 your object was to learn all about 
 it. You might pursue two methods. 
 First, you might set out at one 
 of the gatps, and follow the first 
 path ; then strike off into a grove, 
 and walk a few steps ; then branch 
 into a garden; then return to see 
 the fishpond or the statue. You 
 might spend a day or two in this em- 
 ployment, and at the end of it you 
 would have seen a great many beau- 
 tiful things. But while you had 
 looked at some of these four or five 
 times over, there would be a great 
 number of spots which you had not 
 

 
 YOUNGER BROTHER. gf 
 
 seen at all. Instead of looking ten 
 times at the observatory, you might 
 nave looked at ten different scenes. 
 What was the matter? I will tell 
 you ; you did not view it in regular 
 order. You had no plan. So you 
 might spend years in reading the 
 Scriptures ; and at the end of them, 
 you would have learned many whole 
 chapters or even books of the Bible ; 
 yet there might be some very useful 
 parts which you would know nothing 
 about. Why ? Because you did not 
 read in regular order. 
 
 Secondly : You might get an exact 
 plan of Bonaparte's grounds, like a 
 little map, on a piece of paper ; then 
 you might divide it off into portions, 
 and say, " I can do so much to-day, 
 and so much to-morrow, &c." Then 
 you might go over every step of the 
 fine park and gardens, look at every 
 bridge, and examine every curiosity. 
 You would have surveyed every 
 
8 LETTERS TO A 
 
 single beauty. But what makes the 
 difference between these methods? 
 You viewed it this second time in 
 regular order. Thus, too, you ought 
 to read the Scriptures. And if you 
 lay down a plan, and take care to 
 observe it, and keep it up for a few 
 years, you will know something 
 about the whole Bible. Why? Be- 
 cause you read it in regular order. 
 
 2. Ought I to commit verses to 
 memory ? 
 
 Most certainly you ought ; at least 
 half a dozen every day. The more 
 you learn by rote, the more you will 
 be able to learn. 
 
 If you get six verses every morn- 
 ing, for one year, you will have 
 learned more than two thousand 
 verses, or more than sixty chapters. 
 But this is not all. At the end of the 
 year, it will be as easy for you to 
 commit twenty verses to memory, as 
 it is now for you to commit half a 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 9 
 
 dozen. The best plan I know of is 
 to learn your verses partially just 
 before you prepare to go to bed. 
 Think of them as you are falling 
 asleep, repeat them as you wake the 
 next morning ; and after your morn- 
 ing devotions, learn them perfectly. 
 This you will find, when you go 
 further in your Latin, was the advice 
 of the ancients, and if you lay to 
 heart what you learn, it will be the 
 greatest treasure. Nobody can rob 
 you of it. You may be shipwrecked, 
 or robbed, or imprisoned, but no one 
 can take this out of your memory. 
 
 3. Ought I to read the Bible for 
 amusement ? 
 
 Not exactly. If you mean read- 
 ing it with a thoughtless, careless 
 mind, certainly not. But if you 
 mean, reading its beautiful narra- 
 tives, and its lively descriptions, 
 because you admire them, and be- 
 cause it refreshes and delights you, 
 
10 LETTERS TO A 
 
 certainly it is right for you to read it 
 thus. I have just been reading again 
 the story of Joseph, in the book of Ge- 
 nesis, and I find it more charming 
 than any thing I ever saw in any his- 
 tory or romance. Now there is no 
 harm in your going to the Bible for 
 pleasure, rather than to any other 
 book. It is wonderful that more per- 
 sons do not find out how much inte- 
 resting history the Scriptures contain. 
 Just think of the life of David. It is 
 far more striking than that of Peter 
 the Great, or Baron Trenck. Yet 
 scarcely any one opens the Bible to 
 find rational entertainment. 
 
 So I have answered your ques- 
 tions : and now I shall add a few 
 remarks of my own. There are two 
 books in the Bible which are exceed- 
 ingly interesting and useful. One 
 was written in poetry ; the other in 
 prose. The greater part of one 
 was composed by a great king ; the 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 11, 
 
 greater part of the other by his son, 
 another great king. One was by a 
 warrior, a musician, and a poet ; the 
 other was by the wisest monarch 
 who ever lived. In these two books 
 you will find directions for your devo- 
 tions and your conduct. The Psalms 
 are noble pieces of prayer, thanks- 
 giving, and praise ; the Proverbs are 
 short sayings, every one of which is 
 full of meaning, and rich with wis- 
 dom. When you are older, I would 
 recommend to you to read each of 
 these books through once a month. 
 The book of Psalms is already di- 
 vided into portions, for every morn- 
 ing and evening, in the book I gave 
 you. And the book of Proverbs has 
 just as many chapters as there are 
 days in the long months, one for 
 every day. Scarcely any day will 
 pass in which you will not find an 
 opportunity to govern your speech or 
 your behaviour by some one of these 
 
12 LETTERS TO A 
 
 short maxims. And as the Lord 
 Jesus Christ is the great subject of 
 many psalms, you will learn from 
 the New Testament how to find 
 him every-where in your daily 
 reading. '. 
 
 Farewell, my dear boy. Attend 
 to your studies and your health, and, 
 above all, offer up your heart to God^ 
 
 I am your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 GRATITUDE TO PARENTS. 
 
 My dear brother, — I write you oTx 
 this subject thus early in my course 
 of letters, because I think gratitude 
 to parents is the foundation of a great 
 many virtues; and one of the first 
 and most distressing symptoms of a 
 decline from the paths of virtue is 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 13 
 
 the unkind or contemptuous treat- 
 ment of parents. The first com- 
 mandment with promise is the com- 
 mand to honour our parents, and our 
 earhest duties are those which we 
 have to render to our father and our 
 mother. You will find counsels on 
 this subject scattered through my 
 letters; but as young people are apt 
 to be impressed by narrative, I will 
 give you a little history, which I am 
 sure you will find interesting. The 
 story is connected with the beautiful 
 engraving at the beginning of these 
 letters. 
 
 There lived two poor men in a 
 very rongh and mountainous coun- 
 try, where they kept their flocks, 
 and cultivated such little spots of 
 earth as they could find among the 
 rocks and crags. It was a region 
 abounding in rapid streams, which 
 poured in torrents from the preci- 
 pices. There was scarcely any point 
 
 2 
 
:14 LETTERS TO A 
 
 from which you might not see the 
 tops of mountains covered with snow. 
 The -hills were so rough that it was 
 difficult and dangerous to travel even 
 a mile, from one hamlet to another. 
 Carriages were almost unknown, and 
 most of the inhabitants travelled on 
 foot, and carried their goods upon 
 mules or asses. 
 
 Ulrich and Godfrey, the two men 
 I have spoken of, had large families, 
 and in each of these was a little boy 
 about eleven years of age. Tliese 
 boys often played together, but they 
 were exceedingly unlike in temper. 
 Little Ulrich was sullen and rude; 
 while his playmate Godfrey was 
 kind and gentle. Ulrich's mother 
 found it very hard to manage the 
 stubborn little boy. He was undu- 
 tiful and unkind, and gave his pa- 
 rents many hours of anxiety. Some- 
 times when he was sent to look 
 for the cattle, which strayed in the 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 15 
 
 mountains, he would go to some of 
 the neighbours' houses, and stay 
 several days, while his mother would 
 be in the greatest alarm, lest some 
 accident had befallen him. The 
 ungrateful boy seemed never to think 
 of what might be the cares of his 
 parents. He did not reflect on the 
 hours and days and months of solici- 
 tude which his poor mother had felt 
 on his account ; how she had watched 
 by his pillow when he slept, and 
 nursed him when he was sick, and 
 provided his food, and sat up many 
 a long night to make or mend his 
 clothes. Forgetful of all this, Ulrich 
 would be sulky and sour when she 
 spoke to him, and would even re- 
 proach her in the harshest and most 
 undutiful language. 
 
 Little Godfrey was just the reverse 
 of all this. He loved his parents 
 most tenderly, and delighted to obey 
 them in every particular. Conse- 
 
16 LETTERS TO A 
 
 quently he was far happier himself, 
 and made all around him happy. 
 
 One afternoon, Ulrich's mother 
 had directed him to do some little 
 piece of work which was not quite 
 agreeable to him, and the bad boy as 
 usual flew into a passion, and called 
 his mother several hard names. The 
 poor woman wept as if she would 
 break her heart, but this only made 
 him rage more furiously. At last, giv- 
 ing his mother a look more like that 
 of a wild beast than a son, he dashed 
 out of the house, muttering to him- 
 self that he would never return again. 
 This was as foolish as it was wicked, 
 for the silly child had no place where 
 he could live for any length of time ; 
 and he might have known that his 
 father, whose temper was as violent 
 as his own, and who was often in 
 drink, would soon drag him back 
 home, besides chastising him. But 
 people in a passion seldom stop to 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 1? 
 
 consider, and Ulrich hastened away, 
 and began to ascend one of the steep 
 mountain paths. As he advanced, 
 his mind was drawn away, by de- 
 grees, to other thoughts. At one 
 moment he would pause to examine 
 the scanty flowers which peeped out 
 from among the rocks; at another, 
 he would stand and listen to the dis- 
 tant waterfall, or the hunter's rifle ; 
 and then he would be attracted 
 by the circling flight of the Alpine 
 eagle. Amidst these thoughts his 
 conscience began to whisper to him, 
 "Ulrich, Ulrich, you are a wicked 
 boy! You are breaking the heart 
 of your affectionate mother! Go 
 back, go back!" 
 
 As Ulrich sat by a tall cliff, look- 
 ing westward to where the sun was 
 going behind a range of blue moun- 
 tains, he thought he heard voices in 
 the winding path above him. ''I 
 think I know that voice," said he; "it 
 
18 LETTERS TO A 
 
 must be old Father Simon, coming 
 down to the valley. Poor old man!- 
 I wonder that he does not fall and 
 break his neck among these sharp 
 crags." I ought here to mention, 
 that Father Simon was a very aged 
 man, more than eighty years old 
 who used to travel about the moun 
 tains with the aid of a little dog ; the 
 faithful animal ran before, with a 
 little bell at his collar, and the old 
 man, who was totally blind, felt his 
 way with a long staff, and held a 
 string which was fastened around 
 the dog's neck. But on the day I 
 have mentioned, the poor little dog 
 had been disabled by a large stone 
 which fell upon his back from one 
 of the crags, and Father Simon was 
 forced to sit down and wait some 
 hours for assistance. It was indeed 
 his voice which Ulrich heard, but to 
 whom was he speaking? Ulrich 
 listened, and soon perceived that it 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 19 
 
 was a child's voice, and a moment 
 after, as the blind man came into 
 sight, by turning a corner, Ulrich 
 saw that he was guided by his play- 
 mate, little Godfrey. "Step this 
 way. Father Simon," said the kind 
 little boy, as he helped the poor old 
 man along. " Now lean on my 
 shoulder, and put your right foot 
 down into this hollow." " May Hea- 
 ven reward you, my dear boy," said 
 the old man ; " happy are the parents 
 who have such a son. My poor 
 sightless eyes cannot behold your 
 face, but I hear the gentle tones of 
 your voice. I am weary ; let us rest 
 for a few moments here, where the 
 ground seems level." So saying, 
 Father Simon slowly bent his aged 
 limbs, and sat down by the side of a 
 rock. At the same moment Godfrey 
 recognised his neighbour Ulrich, who 
 was seated a few paces off, and whom 
 he was rejoiced to meet. 
 
LETTERS TO A 
 
 • ^^I have said that Ulrich was in no 
 very pleasant state of mind. Con- 
 science was piercing him for his 
 filial ingratitude ; and at such a mo- 
 ment to see his friend Godfrey en- 
 gaged in an act of kindness made him 
 feel still more guilt}^ He could not 
 help saying to himself, " See what 
 Godfrey is doing for that old man. 
 He is kinder to a poor stranger than 
 I am to my own mother. Indeed, I 
 must be a very wicked boy.^^ As 
 these thoughts passed in his mind, 
 he drew near to the others, and 
 Godfrey told Father Simon that this 
 was one of his friends and play 
 mates. " Well, my children,'^ said 
 Father Simon, " if you will rest with 
 me here for a short time, I will try 
 to say something to you which ma^/ 
 be useful. This little boy has been 
 very kind to a poor old blind man. 
 he has perhaps saved my life, foi 
 since I have lost my faithful Argus 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 21 
 
 I have no friend left, and I might 
 have lain and perished on the moun- 
 tain. My child, God sees and ap- 
 proves such conduct, and he will 
 reward it. The command of God is, 
 * Thou slialt rise up before the hoary 
 head, and honour the face of the old 
 man! I hope you remember what 
 became of the youth who cried after 
 an old prophet, 'Go up, thou bald 
 head !' When I find a child who is 
 very kind to poor and aged persons, 
 I feel sure that he is affectionate and 
 obedient to his parents." 
 
 Ulrich felt very badly when he 
 heard this, for it seemed as if the old 
 man had known what was passing 
 in his mind. Father Simon went 
 on to say: ^'I often say these things 
 to young people, because I remember 
 with sorrow many things I might 
 have done for my parents when I 
 was a child ; and I think of them the 
 more because Providence has left 
 
22 LETTERS TO A 
 
 me m my old age without son, or 
 grandson, to take care of me. Child- 
 ren, mark my words : if you desire 
 to lead happy lives, obey your pa- 
 rents ; love them, honour them, and 
 serve them. Never let the evil one 
 tempt you to give them a harsh word 
 or an angry look." 
 
 Little Godfrey looked up, and said, 
 "Father Simon, I think none but a 
 very wicked boy could be cross to 
 his dear father and mother." Ul- 
 rich's face became as red as crimson 
 at these words, because he knew 
 that he was just such a boy. Father 
 Simon went on to say : " If you wish 
 to make your parents happy in their 
 old age, take pains to please them in 
 every way. 'A ivise son mdketh a 
 glad father; hut a foolish son is the 
 heaviness of his mother^ They are 
 the best friends you can ever have in 
 this world ; never let your conduct 
 give them pain. 'A foolish son is a 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 23 
 
 grief to his father, and a bitterness to 
 her that hare him.'' When parents 
 become old and weak, their greatest 
 comfort is in their children ; be sure 
 to attend to their wishes. 'Hearken 
 unto thy father that begat thee, and 
 despise not thy mother when she is old.'' 
 For if you should grow up in wick- 
 edness, and treat your parents with 
 contempt, you will fall under that 
 awful curse : ' TJie eye that mocketh 
 at his father, and despiseth to obey his 
 mother, the ravens of the valley shall 
 pick it out, and the young eagles shall 
 eat it.'' The whole course of God's 
 providence will be as much against 
 you, as if the birds of prey which 
 you see every day in these mountains 
 were to turn against you, and tear you 
 with their talons." 
 
 Here the old man, being somewhat 
 rested, arose, and taking Godfrey's 
 hand, proceeded on his way. Ulrich 
 sat still under the rock ; he was agi 
 
24 LETTERS TO A 
 
 tated and alarmed, so that his limbs 
 trembled. At length he suddenly 
 arose, and said to himself, "I will go 
 back to my mother." He quickened 
 his steps, as he saw that night w^as 
 coming on, and soon reached his 
 father's cottage. As he went along, 
 he thought a great deal about what 
 he should say to his offended parent. 
 He slowly lifted the latch, and found 
 her sitting in her little room mending 
 his clothes. Her eyes were red with 
 weeping, and she was so grieved by 
 his conduct that she hid her face in 
 her hands, and was unable to speak. 
 O, what a return was this for a mo- 
 ther's love and kindness ! Ulrich 
 was moved to tears. He fell upon 
 her neck, and begged her forgive- 
 ness. She put her arms round him, 
 and forgetting all his unkind looks 
 and reproachful words, pressed him 
 to her bosom. Ulrich promised to 
 love and obey her, and if at any time 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 25 
 
 he felt for a moment disposed to be 
 angry or sullen, he remembered the 
 promises and tears of that day, and 
 the words of Father Simon. 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
 LETTER III. 
 
 LIFE IS SHORT. 
 
 My dear brother,— Life has been 
 compared to the flight of swift ships, 
 and of an eagle hastening to the 
 prey. It is a span, a hand's breadth, 
 a dream. This is the account which 
 the Scriptures give of human life, 
 and if you will consider it, you will 
 see much in it to make you alter 
 your present course of conduct. 
 When a youth looks forward, he 
 almost always thinks of long life. 
 He thinks somewhat in this way 
 3 
 
26 LETTERS TO A 
 
 " I am now thirteen, or fifteen, or 
 seventeen years old, (as the case may 
 be.) In so many years more I shall 
 be of age. Then I shall be my own 
 master. I will do so and so ; I will 
 try such and such schemes ; I shall 
 be happy." 
 
 Mistaken boy [ How different from 
 this does life seem to the old man f 
 He looks back, and says to himself: 
 ^' It was but the other day that } 
 was a boy. I was then full of hope 
 Life seemed a long and flowery path. 
 I have mistaken it. It is a short 
 journey, through a vale of tears." 
 
 Frcan this, we all learn to say with 
 Moses in the ninetieth psalm : ''So 
 teach UrS to number our days, that 
 we may apply our hearts unto wis- 
 dom." 
 
 Is life siiort? Then, my dear 
 brother, whatever you have to do in 
 life ought %Q be done soon. You 
 ought to hegin at once. If you were 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 27 
 
 put to a hard task, and an hour-glass 
 were put by you, and you were told, 
 " This sand runs out exactly in an 
 hour, and at the end of the hour 
 I will come to see whether you 
 have done your task ;" — how anxious 
 would you be not to lose a moment ! 
 Just as anxious should you now be 
 to make a good use of your time. 
 If the whole of life is but a span, 
 then the little portions of it, which 
 we call childhood, youth, middle 
 age, old age, are short indeed. The 
 little portion of youth will soon be 
 over; yet in this very season you 
 are laying a foundation for all the 
 rest of your days. If the young twig 
 grows crooked, the full grown bough 
 will have the same direction. Think 
 of this. 
 
 Youth is the gathering time. You 
 must now be busy in laying up 
 useful knowledge for time to come. 
 Youth is the seed-time. If the 
 
28 LETTERS TO A 
 
 farmer lets the time of sowing pass 
 by, he will have no harvest in sum- 
 mer, and must starve. If you do 
 not fix in your mind the seeds of 
 truth and wisdom now, you will be 
 ignorant and foolish when you grow- 
 to be a man, if you ever do be- 
 come a man. For you must never 
 forget, that multitudes never reach 
 manhood. 
 
 Every thing you do, however 
 trifling it may seem, has its bearing 
 upon your future life. You will 
 reap as you sow, and every moment 
 you are sowing some good or some 
 evil. It seems to you no great 
 matter to trifle away an afternoon ; 
 but you are thereby getting a habit 
 of idleness — you are losing just 
 so much of life — you are letting just 
 so much sand run down without 
 attending to your task. 
 
 The great thing for which you 
 were made is, to please God, and to 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 29 
 
 enjoy his love. Life is short; 
 therefore, do not put off the serAdce 
 of God until to-morrow. If life is so 
 short, you ought to give God the 
 whole of it. Surely, you will not 
 rob him of the spring of your days — 
 the very best part of them. He has 
 as much right to this day as to the 
 morrow ; he demands your youth as 
 well as your old age. Follow the 
 example of our adorable Redeemer, 
 who said, '' I must work the works 
 of him that sent me while it is day ; 
 the night cometh when no man can 
 work." This is what few boys think 
 much of; but those who do are 
 wiser and happier when they become 
 older ; and none enjoy life so much 
 as those who have early given their 
 aifections to Christ. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
30 . LETTERS TO A 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 HOLIDAYS. 
 
 Mt/ dear hrotJier^ — I well remem- 
 ber how much I used to think of 
 holidays when I was a boy. But it 
 pains me to consider how much of 
 this precious time was altogether 
 wasted. But you will say, " Must 
 we study all the time ? May we 
 never play?" 
 
 Surely, I do not mean this. No 
 one can be a greater friend to recrea- 
 tion than myself. I consider it not 
 only harmless, but absolutely necfe*s- 
 sary. But what I mean is, that &\ ^cn 
 in play one should not be foolish or 
 unreasonable. There is such a th n^ 
 as being profitably employed, at he 
 same time that one is entertai d 
 And there is a certain way of sp J 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 31 
 
 ing holidays so as to get neither 
 profit nor recreation. 
 
 Gustavus was a schoolmate of 
 mine, and a more idle lad I never 
 knew. Half his time seemed to be 
 spent in lounging over his books, 
 yawning, stretching, and wishing 
 that the play-hour had come. But 
 how did he use this time of recrea- 
 tion when it came ? I think I see 
 him even now. When the Saturday 
 afternoon, or any of the regular holi- 
 days came, Gustavus seemed as 
 much at a loss as when he was at his 
 desk in the school-room. He had no 
 plan laid out, no arrangements made 
 for his sports or exercise. Now, 1 
 like a boy to have some method even 
 in his play. Gustavus used to saun 
 ter along the road on his way home- 
 ward, as if he scarcely knew what 
 to do with himself Then he would 
 put away his books, and come out 
 again. What he was going to do 
 
32 LETTERS TO A 
 
 next he could not tell. Sometimes 
 he would lie under the trees, or 
 hang upon the gate, or lounge in 
 the lanes, waiting for some of the 
 other boys to come along. Gustavus 
 was thus more uncomfortable than 
 if he had been at his books. And at 
 the end of a holiday, he used to feel 
 more exhausted and worn out, than 
 his younger brother who had been 
 working in the field. There is no 
 profit in such holidays as these : 
 they encourage idleness and irreso- 
 lution. You need not be idle even 
 at your plays. 
 
 Take another picture of another 
 boy. Matthew went to the same 
 school. While he was at his desk 
 he was always employed, and scarce- 
 ly ever looked away from his lesson. 
 His whole soul was engaged in it. 
 But when school was out, and books 
 put away, there was not a livelier 
 fellow in the whole school than Mat- 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 33 
 
 thew : holidays were full of pleasure 
 to him, and full of profit, too. He 
 always had something planned be- 
 forehand. Sometimes he had formed 
 a party to climb the neighbouring 
 mountains, or to build a fort in the 
 edge of the woods, or to visit some of 
 the villages ; sometimes he used to 
 work for hours with the carpenter's 
 tools which his uncle had given him ; 
 and thus he received exercise as well 
 as amusement. But what he chiefly 
 /oved was to go with his father to 
 walk in the woods, and gather 
 flowers, and learn the names of trees, 
 plants, and minerals. 
 
 You will now be able to under- 
 stand me, when I say, do not waste 
 your holidays. One of the most im- 
 portant ways of spending them, is in 
 taking active exercise, — a wholesome 
 game at ball, or an hour's ride on a 
 good horse, will fit you for studying 
 $0 much the better when you return 
 
34 LETIERS TO A 
 
 to your lessons. It is a duty for us 
 to take care of our health. Many 
 persons ruin their health in youth ; 
 and then it is almost impossible to 
 live either comfortably or usefully. 
 
 Visits to your friends may also be 
 paid in your holidays. It is a good 
 sign for boys to be fond of accompa- 
 nying their mothers and sisters in 
 their visits. Thus they learn good 
 manners, and escape that clownish- 
 ness which is apt to grow upon stu- 
 dents. When I see a boy ready on 
 every knock at the door to sneak out 
 of the room, I naturally conclude 
 that he will never be a well-bred 
 man. And this is more important 
 than you might think at first; for 
 when young men grow up, they need 
 and desire some society. And if 
 they have become so foolishly bash- 
 ful, or disgracefully awkward, as to 
 shrink from the society of their mo- 
 thers and sisters, they will be very 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 35 
 
 apt to go out into bad company 
 Lastly, whatever you do, do it upon 
 principle, do it conscientiously, and 
 you will never regret it. 
 I am your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
 LETTER V. 
 
 AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 My dear brother, — You will not be 
 displeased if I devote another letter 
 or two to the subject of recreation 
 and amusement. This is not so tri- 
 fling a matter as some people might 
 suppose. All young persons are fond 
 of play, and more than this, some- 
 thing of the sort is absolutely neces- 
 sary. As the proverb says, " the bow 
 must not be always bent," — and the 
 more diligent a boy is at his books, 
 the more he needs relaxation. This 
 
36 LETTERS TO A . 
 
 is not only important for the prescr 
 vation of health, but for preserving 
 the activity and strength of the mind. 
 Constant application, without rest or 
 pastime, wears the mind, and leads 
 to dulness and despondency. 
 
 It is very common to leave boys 
 entirely to themselves in the choice 
 of their amusements ; but this is not 
 right ; for all plays are not alike good, 
 and there are some which are highly 
 injurious and improper. There are 
 three things which you should have 
 in view in every game or sport : It 
 should be full of entertainment; it 
 should be altogether innocent ; and it 
 should be of some use to body or 
 mind. The first requisite, that is 
 entertainment, you will readily seek 
 and find ; but boys are not so careful 
 to amuse themselves in a profitable, 
 or even a harmless way. Let me 
 call your attention to some of the 
 amusements which are common. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 37 
 
 Fiist of all, I persuade myself that 
 you will never think of playing cards. 
 I should wish you never to know 
 even the name of a playing-card. 
 Games of this kind are all games of 
 hazard or chance. They do not 
 benefit the mind, they waste precious 
 time, and, above all, they lead di- 
 rectly to the ruinous vice of gam- 
 bling. Every play in which dice are 
 used is, in some degree, a game of 
 hazard ; and such amusements con- 
 duct the inexperienced to gambling. 
 Draughts, or chequers, is a game of 
 skill ; but I never could see it to be 
 of much use to the mind, and it cer- 
 tainly affords no advantages to the 
 body. Indeed, all sedentary games 
 of this sort seem unsuitable for youth, 
 because they keep the players within 
 doors, while they might be employed 
 in taking healthful exercise. The 
 game of chess is liable also to the last 
 of these objections, although it has 
 
 4 
 
38 LETTERS TO A 
 
 been approved by many judicious 
 persons. I certainly do not regard it 
 as evil in itself, and it may be true 
 that it encourages thought, and exer- 
 cises the mind to a certain extent. 
 But its fascinations are such, that 
 most w^ho are fond of it waste many 
 precious hours at the chess-board. 
 It often takes up a great length of 
 time, and those who become expert 
 -are frequently tempted to try other 
 gam*es, and so become gamblers at 
 length. Besides, I could never find 
 it so clearly beneficial to the mind as 
 has been pretended. Some of the 
 most wonderful chess-players I have 
 ever seen, have been persons of very 
 feeble understanding and limited rea- 
 soning powers. In a word, I would 
 recommend to you to abstain from 
 all games which keep you sitting 
 still, and yield no direct improvement 
 You are rather too big a boy to 
 engage in the trifling sports of child- 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 39 
 
 ren. Such I consider marhles. I am 
 always mortified to see large boys at 
 this pastime. It brings one into bad 
 company, is often connected with a 
 sort of gaming, and at best is some- 
 what a grovelling business, without 
 any pretence of being useful. 
 
 There are other recreations which 
 are good or bad, according to the way 
 in which they are used. Such are 
 7V7'estU?ig and boxi?ig. These are 
 highly useful to the limbs, affording 
 them exercise and strength. But 
 then care must be taken to avoid all 
 danger, and especially to shun every 
 disposition towards fighting and bul- 
 lying. I fear it will generally be 
 found that good boxers are apt to 
 become quarrelsome. 
 
 You will, no doubt, expect me to 
 say something about what are called 
 the sports of the field. Among these 
 I include angling, or fishing with 
 the hook and line. It is certainly 
 
40 LETTERS TO A 
 
 delightful to stroll along pleasant 
 brooks, arid to recline on the green, 
 shaded banks, in fine summer wea- 
 ther. And in the pursuit of this 
 sport, it is always pleasing to witness 
 the increase of one's skill, and the 
 corresponding success. Where it is 
 pursued for the sake of obtaining 
 food, it is undoubtedly a reasonable 
 and useful employment. But when 
 boys go a fishing, their sole object is 
 amusement, and their amusement is 
 a cruel one. The baiting with live 
 worms, which writhe upon the 
 barbed hook, and the mangling of 
 the harmless fry which are caught, 
 are surely bad lessons of humanity 
 for tender youth. Some persons 
 will call these objections weak and 
 womanlike. But where amusement*; 
 are so abundant, without the neces- 
 sity of harming any living thing, I 
 cannot see the need of seeking so 
 barbarous an enjoyment ; and in those 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 41 
 
 respects in which the female sex 
 excels, I am very willing to be 
 considered feminine. 
 
 My objections are still greater to 
 fowling, or gunning, as an amuse- 
 ment for boys. There is no sport in 
 which they become so enthusiastic, 
 and there are few which are more 
 injurious. Not to speak of the la- 
 mentable accidents which are con- 
 stantly occurring with fire-arms; 
 there is here a greater cruelty than 
 even in angling. If every bird at 
 which you discharged your piece 
 were killed on the spot, there might 
 be less reason for this remark. But 
 how many poor fluttering things are 
 merely wounded, and left to linger 
 for hours or days in mortal anguish- 
 I can never forget the impressions 
 made upon me in my childhood, by 
 the touching lines of Burns, upon 
 seeing a wounded hare limp along 
 his path : 
 
 / ^* 
 
42 LETTERS TO A 
 
 inhuman man ! shame on thy barbarous art, 
 And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; 
 May never pity soothe thee with a sigh; 
 
 Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart. 
 
 Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 
 The bitter little that of life remains ; 
 No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
 
 To thee shall home or food or pastime yield. 
 
 Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
 No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ; 
 The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head ; 
 
 The cold earth with thy bloody bosom press'd, 
 
 Oft as by winding Nith I musing wait 
 The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
 I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 
 
 And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless 
 fate. 
 
 Whole days are commonly con- 
 sumed in this sport, and there are 
 many young men who become so 
 fond of it as to make it their princi- 
 pal employment. Without enlarging 
 upon the reasons why it is so, I will 
 state it as a fact, which I have long 
 observed, that young men who are 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 43 
 
 devoted to dogs and guns usually 
 become idle and dissipated. 
 
 But you will be ready to say, 
 *You are only telling me what pas- 
 times I must not indulge in; name 
 some which you recommend." This 
 I propose to do in my next communi- 
 cation. In the mean time, let me give 
 you one important rule, which applies 
 to the whole subject: Let amuse- 
 ment always occupy its proper time. 
 Its time is when the mind needs re- 
 freshment, when it has been jaded 
 Dy application. Never make a busi- 
 ness of play — never spend whole 
 days upon mere recreation. Be 
 moderate in all enjoyments of this 
 kind, and avoid every thing that is 
 frivolous and childish. Remember 
 that we are just as accountable for 
 our relaxation as for any thing else ; 
 and we ought, therefore, to be as 
 conscientious in it. Farewell. 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
44 LETTERS TO A 
 
 LETTER VI. 
 
 BODILY EXERCISE. 
 
 My dear hrother, — You are not to 
 suppose, from my objections to cer- 
 tain plays and games, that there are 
 no suitable recreations. Indeed, my 
 difficulty in writing to you this 
 morning, is, that there are so many, 
 I scarcely know w^iere to begin, or 
 which to choose. There are amuse- 
 ments which are good for the body, 
 or the mind, or for both. Let us 
 consider a few of these. 
 
 Healthful exercise is part of the 
 duty of every day. The divine 
 Maker and Master of these bodies 
 requires that we should take good 
 care of them. Young persons en- 
 gaged in study are liable to diseases 
 which arise from want of exercise. 
 No day should pass, therefore, with- 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 45 
 
 out sufficient employment of the 
 limbs and muscles. And those ex- 
 ercises are best which give strength 
 to the body, and at the same time 
 give recreation to the mind. If you 
 amvise yourself without muscular 
 action, you will be puny and weak 
 of limb; and if you take ever so 
 much exercise without delight, you 
 will become dull and melancholy. 
 Try to accomplish both ends at once. 
 For example, riding on Jwrsehack 
 is a noble exercise for boys. It is 
 an indispensable part of a manly 
 education. It is one of the best 
 means of preserving health. To 
 manage a spirited horse is quite an 
 attainment for a young man ; tending 
 to produce high cheerfulness and 
 courage. In many ways which I 
 cannot stop to name, it may be very 
 useful in your future life. And you 
 will never be an independent rider, 
 
46 LETTERS TO A 
 
 unless you become sucli in your boy- 
 hood. 
 
 Walking may be used when one 
 cannot ride. But walking takes 
 more time, and often fatigues before 
 it has sufficiently excited the cir- 
 culation, and revived the spirits. 
 Neither can you survey so great a 
 variety of scenes on foot as on horse- 
 back. Let me own, however, that 
 the great Dr. Franklin considered 
 walking the very best sort of exer- 
 cise. It should be pursued for at 
 least .two hours every day, by those 
 who study closely. Pedestrian ex- 
 cursions are of great benefit. In this 
 way hundreds of the students at the 
 German universities spend their va- 
 cations, sometimes travelling over all 
 Sw^itzerland. 
 
 Whether you walk or ride, how- 
 ever, you should have a companion, 
 otherwise your thoughts will be apt 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 47 
 
 still to busy themselves with the 
 books you have left. Try to have 
 some object in view, in your walk or 
 ride. Visit a friend — seek out some 
 natural curiosity — make yourself 
 famiUar with every hill and valley, 
 every nook and corner, of the whole 
 township and county. In process 
 of time, extend your researches to 
 your own State, and then to other 
 States. Or make collections in mine- 
 ralogy and botany, that you may be 
 gaining science as well as health. 
 Thus you will become a traveller, 
 and judicious travel is the most pro- 
 fitable, as it is certainly the most 
 agreeable of all recreations. 
 
 Swimming^ rowing, and skating 
 are manly sports, and conducive to 
 health when practised with discre- 
 tion. The first in particular is es- 
 sential to a good education; for as 
 you read in Thomson, 
 
48 LETTERS TO A 
 
 "Life is oft preserved 
 By the bold swimmer, in the swift illapse 
 Of accident disastrous." 
 
 I say nothing abont trap-ball, crick- 
 et, shinny, (sometimes called bandy,) 
 quoits, and the like, because the only 
 danger is that you already do too 
 much at them. They are all good, 
 when used at proper times, in proper 
 places, and with proper care ; but no 
 one of them conduces to any imme- 
 diate benefit, beyond the exercise 
 and amusement. Not so with man- 
 ual labour. This, after all, seems to 
 be the true recreation, especially for 
 wintry days, when we have to keep 
 the house. The Jews used to hold, 
 that every lad, however rich, should 
 be bred to a trade. A little skill in 
 / carpentry is a grand accomplishment. 
 -How often have I regretted that 1 
 had not gained it. I might now be 
 independent of the joiner, when I 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 49 
 
 want a new shelf, or when the leg 
 of my table needs to be mended. A 
 turning lathe is used by some young 
 friends of mine, with great advan- 
 tage. Every large school ought to 
 have a good supply of tools, and some 
 one to give lessons to the boys. But 
 even without other tools, you may 
 chop, saw, and split wood, or break 
 up coal, or roll the gravel walks, or 
 ply the wheelbarrow. And when 
 these things are done by boys in 
 concert, nothing can be more enter- 
 taining. Gardening is so charming 
 a recreation, so innocent, healthful, 
 and profitable, that I might spend 
 a whole letter in writing about it. 
 Take my word for it, if you live to 
 be a man, you will have a peculiar 
 satisfaction in looking at trees or 
 shrubbery which you had put in the 
 earth many years before. And in 
 our climate, where trees for shade 
 are so valuable, you cannot discharge 
 
 5 
 
50 LETTERS TO A 
 
 your duty to society, if you do not 
 occasionally plant a linden, or locust, 
 or an elm which may refresh your 
 fellow men v/hen you shall have 
 departed. I am the more earnest 
 about this, because I have to walk 
 daily through a street, upon which 
 the noontide sun pours his beams, 
 much to my discomfort. If T had 
 set out trees twenty years ago, as 
 I might have done, how different 
 would my walks be ! Look at the 
 shaded promenade before the State 
 House in Philadelphia, or Temple 
 street in New Haven, or Bond street 
 in New York, or the Mall in Boston, 
 and you will feel the force of my 
 advice. The cultivation of valuable 
 fruit trees and plants may be made a 
 source of profit as well as of plea- 
 sure. 
 
 But I have filled my sheet, and 
 yet am not half done with the subject 
 Adieu, my dear boy, but remember, 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 51 
 
 m recreation, no less than in labour^ 
 to keep a conscience void of offence 
 towards God and towards man. 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James 
 
 LETTER VII. 
 
 EARLY RISING. 
 
 My dear brother , — In the coarse 
 of my reading I am alw^ays glad to 
 meet with any thing which strikes 
 me as suitable for your instruction. 
 This morning I opened upon a page 
 of Mr. Jay's works, in which he 
 speaks of early rising^ and his 
 thoughts are so excellent, that I shall 
 make free use of them, and mingle 
 them with my own. 
 
 The habit of early rising, if ever 
 formed, is commonly established in 
 cliildhood or vouth. If one has 
 
52 LETTERS TO A 
 
 wasted the delightful morning hours 
 of fifteen years in bed, he will not 
 readily learn to deny himself; there- 
 fore, I wish you now to learn to en- 
 joy 
 
 "The cool, the fragrant, and the silent morn, 
 To meditation due, and sacred song." 
 
 Perhaps you are ready to ask how 
 much sleep is necessary? This can- 
 not be answered in a word. Some 
 need more than others. But Mr. 
 Jay says, *' It is questionable whether 
 they require much more. Yea, it may 
 be questioned whether they require 
 (my more, as to length. What they 
 want more of, is hetter sleep; and the 
 quality would be improved by lessen- 
 ing the quantity." This remark used 
 to be often made by the celebrated 
 and excellent Dr. Benjamin Rush- 
 Try the experiment of shortening 
 your slumbers ; you will have fewer 
 dreams, fewer turnings and tossings 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 63 
 
 but more solid repose, more refresh- 
 ment. 
 
 But you must shorten your rest at 
 the right end; not by sitting up late 
 at night, but by rising early in the 
 morning. Physicians say, that one 
 hour's sleep before midnight is worth 
 more than two hours' after it. How- 
 ever this may be, one hour of study 
 before breakfast is certainly worth 
 two after supper. The mind is more 
 fresh and cheerful, and the health is 
 less injured. And then, how much 
 more delightful are the early hours ! 
 The poet says truly, 
 
 *"• Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, 
 With charm of earliest birds." 
 
 In the delightful months of spring, 
 summer, and autumn, 'you should 
 be up at sunrise. When the va 
 pours begin to disperse, you will 
 observe all nature bedewed with 
 sweetness. Fresh odours breath*i 
 5* 
 
64 LETTERS TO A 
 
 from the woods, and fields, and gar 
 dens. A thousand birds are singing 
 in the branches. The morning walk 
 among such scenes is as useful to 
 the health as it is pleasing to 1 he taste. 
 
 It is time that you should begin to 
 care for your health, and Uke mea- 
 sures to secure strength for future 
 usefulness. The advantage of early 
 rising, as it regards this, will be ap- 
 parent in your vigour, your appetite, 
 your nerves, your spirits, your com- 
 plexion. Ask your physician. Is 
 there a medical man on earth that 
 would risk his reputation by a con- 
 trary opinion? Sinclair, in his vo- 
 lumes on health and long life, re- 
 marks, that though those who lived 
 to a very great age differed in many 
 things, they all resembled each other 
 here There was not one who did 
 not rise early. 
 
 Whatever business you may ever 
 ^ engaged in, will be furthered by 
 
YOUNGER BROTHEFv. 5^, 
 
 early rising. What an advantage 
 has a student from this habit in 
 planning and arranging his pursuits 
 for the day! in despatching what 
 requires haste, whether reading or 
 writing! and in having leisure for 
 any incidental engagement, without 
 putting every thing else into disor- 
 der ! While another who is disposed 
 to cry out, " A little more sleep, and a 
 little more slumber," and who begins 
 at ten what he should have begun at 
 six, is thrown into hurry and confu- 
 sion; bustles forward to overtake 
 himself; feels himself a drudge all 
 day; and at night is weary, without 
 havmg accomplished his task. All 
 this is so well known, that those very 
 I>eople who love to lie in bod them- 
 selves are very strict in causing 
 their servants to rise in good season; 
 and among all active, business men, 
 a man's reputation suffers from the 
 want of this virtue. 
 
56 LETTERS TO A 
 
 The heathen used to say, Morning 
 is the friend to the muses. It surely 
 is a friend to the graces. If it is the 
 best time for study, it is also the best 
 time for devotion. When prayer 
 and praise are neglected in the morn- 
 ing, they are commonly neglected all 
 day ; and if you let the world get the 
 start of your soul in the morning, 
 you will seldom overtake it all day. 
 Morning devotion sweetens every 
 succeeding hour, pours a balm on 
 the conscience, gives a pleasant sa- 
 vour to business, locks the door 
 against wdcked thoughts, and fur- 
 nishes matter for pious reflection. 
 
 It is better to go from prayer to busi- 
 ness than from business to prayer. 
 Intercourse with God prepares for in- 
 tercourse with our fellow creatures^ 
 and for every event, whether pleasing 
 or painful. Boerhaave, the celebrated 
 physician, rose early in the morning, 
 and through his life his practice was 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 57 
 
 to retire an hour for private prayer 
 and meditation. Col. Gardiner, even 
 when in camp, used to spend two 
 hours of the early morning in reh- 
 gious exercises. The great Judge 
 Hale, too, rose early, and retired for 
 prayer, and read a portion of God's 
 word, without w^hich, he said, no- 
 thing prospered with him all day. 
 Harvard, the philanthropist, was an 
 early riser. John Wesley usually 
 slept five hours ; and for many years, 
 he, and all the first Methodist preach- 
 ers, had a public service at five in 
 the morning. President Dmiglit was 
 in the habit of studying before day 
 for a large portion of his life. And 
 there was in one of our southern 
 States, a labouring man who, by de- 
 voting two hours of every morning 
 tx) study, before he went to his work, 
 became a learned theologian. 
 
 If you have already acquired the 
 disgraceful habit of lying in bed late 
 
58 LETTERS TO A 
 
 in the morning, break it off now, not 
 gradually, but at once. Do not regard 
 the Uttle unpleasant feehngs you may 
 have to endure for a few weeks. Go 
 forth, and inhale the fragrance of 
 the charming spring and autumnal 
 mornings; it will be a cordial to 
 your body and your mind. And in 
 the summer, the season from early 
 dawn until breakfast is the only 
 time you can enjoy a book, a walk or 
 ride in the open air. Let me give 
 you Milton^ s account of the way in 
 which he used to pass his morning 
 hours. " Those morning haunts," 
 says this great poet, " are where they 
 ought to be- — at home ; not sleeping 
 or concocting the surfeits of an irre- 
 gular feast, but up and stirring ; in 
 winter, often ere the sound of any 
 bell awake men to labour or devotion; 
 in summer, as oft with the bird that 
 first rouses, or not much tardier, to 
 read good authors, or cause them to 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 59 
 
 be read, till the attention be weary, 
 or memory have its full freight ; then 
 with useful and generous labours 
 preserving the body's health and 
 hardiness, to render lightsome, clear, 
 and not lumpish obedience to the 
 mind, to the cause of religion and 
 our country's liberty." 
 
 I have writtea to you more than 
 once, concerning the example of our 
 adorable Saviour; and I wish the 
 chief object of these letters may be, 
 to set this blessed example more 
 fully before you. Now^, what do you 
 suppose was our Lord's practice? 
 Just imagine to yourself the way in 
 which he spent his morning hours. 
 Can you for an instant suppose that 
 he passed them in slumbers upon 
 his couch ? When the hum of busi- 
 ness began among the labourers of 
 Judea or of Galilee, and the sun 
 shone warmly on the fields and vil- 
 xages, was the Redeemer asleep ? Is 
 
60 LETTERS TO A 
 
 it possible for you to think so ? No, 
 it is not. On a certain occasion, wo 
 read, And in the morning, rising wp 
 a great rvMle before day, he went out^ 
 and departed into a solitary place, 
 and there prayed; and yet he had 
 been greatly occupied the whole of 
 the day preceding this. We think 
 little of time, but he never passed an 
 idle hour. The language of the 
 whole of his life was, / must rvorh 
 the worJcs of him that sent me, while it 
 is yet day : the night cometh, wherein 
 no man can work. Yet he was really 
 a man. He took our infirmities, and 
 wearied nature required repose ; but 
 he distinguished between what was 
 necessary and what was needless ; 
 and it may be also said of his whole 
 life, " He pleased not himself' 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 61 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 THE HABIT OF DILIGENCE. 
 
 My dear brother, — Not long ago I 
 wrote to you about the importance 
 of forming right habits, and I then 
 said a Uttle upon the subject of dili- 
 gence. I now wish to write to you 
 more particularly concerning this 
 matter, for this is the time in which 
 you must form the habit of applica- 
 tion, if you ever do. 
 
 Think how valuable a thing know- 
 ledge is. If you take two boys of the 
 same age, one from an Indian tribe, 
 and the other from an intelligent 
 family of Christians, you will observe 
 an amazing difference. I do not 
 mean the difference in their looks, 
 and clothing, and manners, but in 
 their minds. One will be ignorant 
 of almost every thing that is useful. 
 
 6 
 
02 LETTERS TO A 
 
 The other will know a thoTisand 
 things upon a great many subjects. 
 Such is the effect of education. 
 When one of the ancient philoso- 
 phers was asked what was the use 
 of knowledge, he answered, "Take 
 two men, one educated and the other 
 uneducated, and let them be cast 
 naked upon a foreign coast, and you 
 will see the difference which know- 
 ledge makes." 
 
 There are many things which we 
 learn without much trouble, by hear- 
 ing our parents and friends talk 
 about them. But in order to be 
 truly learned, so as to be most useful, 
 we must apply ourselves to study. 
 Many boys are too apt to look upon 
 their lessons as mere tasks. They 
 take no pleasure in learning them, 
 and are glad when they are free from 
 them, in order that they may go and 
 play. This is because they do not 
 consider what a precious thing know- 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 63 
 
 ledge is. If they considered this, 
 they would be deUghted whenever 
 they have an opportunity to learn 
 any thing. Let me mention two 
 cases. Joseph is a boy of my acquaint- 
 ance, who has very good talents, and 
 has been sent to school from his 
 infancy. His father has given him 
 the best teachers, and furnished him 
 with all the books that he needs. 
 But still he makes scarcely any im- 
 provement. He takes his book, and 
 opens it, and looks at the pages, but 
 seems always ready to fall asleep 
 over it. It is a tiresome business to 
 him. Then he becomes so weary 
 that he frets and grows peevish, 
 looks about the room, plays with his 
 knife and pencil, talks with those 
 who sit next to him, and when he 
 rises to recite, is shamefully unpre- 
 pared. He hates his books, and is 
 sorry when the hour comes for him 
 to go. He learns nothing, and is a 
 
64 LETTERS TO A 
 
 mere idler. What is the reason? 
 He never thinks of the use of know- 
 ledge. He does not consider that 
 this is the very best time for him to 
 get knowledge. Perhaps no one has 
 ever told him how sorry and ashamed 
 he will be, when he grows up, and 
 finds that he knows scarcely any 
 thing. Joseph has been so negligent 
 that he has formed a habit of idle- 
 ness. This habit has grown very 
 strong. His teacher promised him 
 a beautiful book, if he would get one 
 lesson perfectly. Joseph thought he 
 was sure of the prize, and that he 
 could get the lesson in an hour. So 
 he could, easily, if it had not been 
 for this habit of idleness. For two 
 or three minutes he would fix his 
 eye on his book, and seemed to study^ 
 very hard. But then the old habit 
 would begin to work ; he would look 
 off to see what his next neighbour 
 was doing, and before long, he would 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 65 
 
 catch himself playing with the string 
 of his sachel, or cutting notches on 
 his slate-frame. Then he would get 
 back to his book, but in a minute or 
 two he would have forgotten all 
 about it. Joseph got no prize, and I 
 am afraid he will be an ignorant boy 
 as long as he lives. 
 
 Benjamin is of the same age, and 
 in the same class, but he is a very 
 different boy. He knows that it 
 gives his dear parents very great 
 pleasure when he is attentive to his 
 tasks. He has often heard of the 
 value of time, and that when it is 
 lost it can never be recovered. And 
 he is sure that the more he studies 
 now, the wiser he will be when he 
 grows up to be a man, if his life 
 should be spared. For these reasons 
 he is very careful to learn as much 
 as he can. He loves his books, and 
 feels pleasure at every new thing 
 which he is taught. He is never 
 
 6* 
 
66 LETTERS TO A 
 
 idle, but spends the whole of his 
 school-hours in getting his lessons. 
 It is no burden to him to learn, but 
 rather a pleasure; and he is more 
 cheerful and happy when he is at 
 hard study, than the boys around 
 him who are whispering, or playing, 
 or nodding over their books. Benja- 
 min has formed a habit of diligence. 
 It is as natural to him to study when 
 he is at school, as to eat when he is 
 at table. He knows every lesson 
 perfectly, and gratifies his parents 
 when he goes home, by telling them 
 how^ many pleasant things he has 
 learned. If Benjamin lives to be a 
 man, he will have a great deal of 
 useful knowledge. For any one 
 who loves to learn will certainly be- 
 come learned. This habit of applica- 
 tion will be likely to stick to him all 
 his life, and he will be learning some- 
 thing good as long as he lives. Now, 
 [ wish you to choose between these 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. pH 
 
 two boys, and find out which of 
 them you would like to resemble. 
 And whatever habits you now form, 
 I think you will always keep. 
 
 If you have been so unhappy as to 
 neglect this, and have already fallen 
 into any bad habits, I beg that you 
 will try, with all your might, to get 
 rid of them. This is often very 
 hard ; for it is more difficult to un- 
 learn what is bad, than to learn what 
 is good. But it must be done; and 
 the sooner the better. Even small 
 things are important, when they 
 become habitual. Plato, the Gre- 
 cian philosopher, once rebuked a 
 yoimg man very severely for playing 
 with dice. " Why do you rebuke 
 me so severely," said the youth, 
 "for so small a matter?" Plato 
 replied, "It is no small matter to 
 form a habit." While you have 
 vour books before you, try to think 
 of nothing else. If you find yourself 
 
 \ 
 
68 LETTERS TO A 
 
 beginning to be weary, rouse your 
 mind by thinking of the value of 
 time, the use of learning, and espe- 
 cially your duty to God. 
 
 Habit will make those things easy 
 which at first seem very hard. By 
 constant practice men become able 
 to do astonishing works. There is 
 a story in ancient books of a man 
 whose strength was so great, that he 
 could carry an ox upon his shoulders. 
 When he was asked how he acquired 
 such power, he said it was by this 
 means : he took the animal when 
 it was a young calf, and lifted it 
 every day, till it grew to this size ] 
 and by constant practice his strength 
 grew as the calf grew. You may 
 believe the tale or not, just as you 
 choose ; but it is a good illustration 
 of the power of constant practice. 
 It is much the same in learning. 
 In arithmetic, for instance, it is 
 astonishing how some young people 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 69 
 
 will improve by practice. If you 
 were to take a long page in a mer- 
 hant's leger, it would take you 
 fifteen minutes to add it up; but 
 your father would run liis finger up 
 the row of figures, and tell you the 
 sum in less than two minutes. This 
 is because he is practising it every 
 day. I know many persons who 
 never think of using a slate for any 
 of the common questions in arithme- 
 tic ; they have the habit of working 
 them all in their head. So also in 
 composition. When you sit down 
 to write a letter, it takes you a long 
 time to think what to put down. 
 You bite your pen, and muse and 
 ponder, and take a great while to 
 fill half a page. But your sister 
 writes on, as fast as her pen will 
 move, and never stops until she has 
 covered the whole sheet. All these 
 things should encourage you to be 
 
70 LETTERS TO A 
 
 very much in earnest, and to study 
 diligently, and acquire the habit 
 of using every hour to the best 
 advantage 
 
 There are many young persons 
 who would give all they have in the 
 world for the advantages which you 
 possess. They have no books, no 
 friends to teach them, and no money 
 to pay for schooling. If they were 
 in your place, they would go forward 
 with rapid steps. Some poor boys 
 who have laboured under all these 
 difficulties, have, nevertheless, be- 
 come very learned men. In order 
 to excite your mind, I intend, before 
 long, to give you the history of some 
 of these. In the mean time, my dear 
 brother, he diligent. Do every part 
 of your duty 7vith all your might. 
 When you play, do it heartily, and 
 take as much pleasure in it as you 
 choose; but when you study, do 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 71 
 
 it in good earnrest, and do nothing 
 e.se. 
 
 jf our affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 LEARN SOMETHING EVERY HOUR. 
 
 My dear brother, — You must not 
 suppose, from what I said in my last 
 letter, that the school is the only 
 place where you can acquire know- 
 ledge. I would by no means have 
 you to play all the time that you are 
 not employed at your tasks. There 
 are a great many hours, especially 
 in these long winter evenings, in 
 which you may be filling your mind 
 with something useful. For this pur- 
 pose you should alwaj^s have some 
 instructive book at hand. Your 
 parents have many such books, and 
 
72 LETTERS TO A 
 
 are always glad to give you the use 
 of them. It makes me sorry to see 
 that you read so much in mere story 
 books. Some of these indeed are 
 useful, and they are liked by all 
 young people ; but most of them are 
 foolish, if not injurious. Boys often 
 become so fond of this sort of read- 
 ing, that they never look into any 
 but tales and novels. And in this 
 way they weaken their minds, and 
 lose all the advantage they might 
 gain from books of instruction. Now, 
 if you did but think of it, you would 
 find out that there are works which 
 are highly entertaining, at the same 
 time that they are profitable. I mean 
 books of history, voyages and travels, 
 biography, natural history, and phi- 
 losophical experiments. If you were 
 once to taste the pleasantness of. 
 these, you would soon throw away 
 vour story books, which are mostly 
 ^^ nnlv for the nursery. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 73 
 
 But you cannot be always read- 
 ing, and it is by no means neces- 
 sary. There are many other ways 
 of getting useful knowledge. The 
 greater part of what you already 
 know, you have learned from hear- 
 ing your father and mother talking. 
 If all they have told you should be 
 vn:itten do^vn, it would fill a multi- 
 tude of volumes. And you remem- 
 ber this much better than if you had 
 read it in a book. You ought, there- 
 fore, to learn something every day 
 from your parents. They are alw^ays- 
 willing to teach you; and whenever 
 you have any difficulty, you should 
 get them to explain it. There are a 
 thousand things w^hich they would 
 be delighted to tell you, and which 
 you would be glad to learn. When- 
 ever you are sitting with them, try 
 to get them to instruct you. You 
 may do the same thing with all your 
 friends. If you are only modest and 
 
 7 
 
74 LETTERS TO A 
 
 respectfijl, they will not consider 
 yov too inqnisitive. All sensible 
 people aie gratified when they see 
 that boys are desirous to learn. 
 Make it a rule to leani something 
 from every-body ; for there is no one, 
 high or low, who has not some 
 knowledge which might do you 
 -good. For instance, you have friends 
 :in the school who come from differ- 
 ent parts of the country. You may 
 gain much information from them, 
 by inquiring concerning the places 
 where they live, and getting them to 
 describe to you every thing that is 
 remarkable in their own neighbour- 
 hoods. Even the tradesmen and 
 mechanics can instruct you in many 
 httle matters relating to their own 
 employments. It is a great advan- 
 tage for a man to know something 
 about every different trade and me- 
 chanic art, and you cannot learn 
 this from books so well as from 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 75 
 
 going into the workshops, and ask- 
 ing questions of the people who are 
 at work. When they see that you 
 really wish to be informed, they 
 will be glad to answer all your 
 inquiries. I should like you to 
 know all the particulars about every 
 kind of trade and manufacture. 
 
 And then, when you go into the 
 country, it will make your excursions 
 much more pleasant if you will take 
 pains to learn from farmers every 
 thing about the cultivation of the 
 earth. You must be sure to find 
 out as much as you can about the 
 different operations of agriculture; 
 sowing, reaping, and the like; and 
 about the productions of the land, 
 the raising of cattle and sheep, and 
 the ways of improving the soil. You 
 will find that many husbandmen, 
 who have not read as much as your- 
 self, have a great treasure of know- 
 ledge and wisdom. Sometimes you 
 
76 LETTERS TO A 
 
 will fall into the company of those 
 who have travelled in foreign coun- 
 tries. This will give you a fine 
 opportunity to learn from them all 
 you wish to know about the parts 
 of the w^orld w^hich they have visit- 
 ed. And if you travel about in 
 your holidays, you must keep your 
 eyes open to every thing that is re- 
 markable, and learn all about the 
 places through which you pass. In 
 old times this was the principal way 
 of acquiring knowledge. Instead of 
 going to colleges and universities, 
 the ancient Greeks used to travel for 
 years together in Asia and Egypt, 
 and other lands. This is the method 
 which was pursued by Lycurgus, 
 and Pythagoras, and Plato, and others 
 of whom your histories tell you 
 When you go to a strange place, you 
 must endeavour to find out whatever 
 is curious, and to make inquiries of 
 all your friends. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 77 
 
 There are a great many common 
 things which we see every day, that 
 are very curious. Many boys carry 
 watches for months and years with- 
 out knowing at all what it is that 
 makes them go. Charles Harvey 
 had a watch given to him the day 
 he was fifteen years old. He was 
 much pleased with the present, but 
 could not feel satisfied until he went 
 to the watchmaker, and got him to 
 explain the inside of it. The watch- 
 maker took the w^atch to pieces, and 
 show^ed him all the w^orks. He 
 show^ed him the steel spring wound 
 up in a coil, and let him see how it 
 was constantly trying to unwind it- 
 self and get loose. Then he showed 
 him the barrel to which the end of 
 the spring is fastened, and how the 
 w^orking of the spring makes the 
 barrel move round and round. He 
 pointed out the chai7i w^hich goes 
 from the barrel to the great n^heel 
 
78 LETTERS TO A 
 
 and fusee, and told him how one 
 wheel moved another, till the hands 
 were made to go round. But you 
 cannot understand this by writing. 
 If you ask your father, he wdll ex- 
 plain all these works to you in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 Some boys are so careless that 
 they make no inquiries, and never 
 learn any thing of value. I knew a 
 boy who used to go to a mill every 
 few days, but who never had the 
 curiosity to ask how^ it was that the 
 water falling on the great wheel 
 could make the mill-stone turn round : 
 and lads w^ill often own guns without 
 ever finding out hov/ the lock is 
 formed, or how the trigger moves 
 the other works, or how the gun- 
 powder or the shot is made. I hope 
 it will not be so with you, but that 
 whenever you see an)'" machine, you 
 will not rest until you know all about 
 it. When you are next on boaid of 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 7# 
 
 a steamboat, get some one to explain 
 to you how the steam works. Inquire 
 about the boiler, and the condenser, 
 and the piston, and the valves. Find 
 out the way in which the pump in 
 the yard raises the water, and what 
 it is that makes the mercury rise and 
 fall in the thermometer. 
 
 The great thing is to be always 
 inquiring. Ask and you will learn. 
 Learn something every hour. Re- 
 member the little story of Eyes and 
 no Eyes, and read Travels about 
 Home.^ Whenever you take a walk, 
 you may be learning something. 
 You ought to be able to tell the 
 name of every kind of tree in the 
 woods, either by the bark and leaves, 
 or by the shape, and the way they 
 look at a distance. You may easily 
 find out the names of the principal 
 
 * Both these works are among the publications 
 of the American Sunday-school Union. 
 
80 LETTERS TO A 
 
 plants and flowers which grow in 
 the fields. It wdll be a shame if you 
 grow up without knowing how to 
 tell one bird from another, by their 
 shape, their plumage, their song, or 
 their manner of flying. When you 
 come to look more sharply, you will 
 discover a great many curious differ- 
 ences in the mosses and the ragged 
 lichens which grow on the fences 
 and stones, and look like mould. 
 This is the way to become a philoso- 
 pher. A philosopher is a lover of 
 wisdom. The reason why some 
 men become philosophers is, that 
 they are always inquiring and learn- 
 ing something every hour. It was 
 thus that Dr. Franklin became so 
 celebrated, and discovered the nature 
 of thunder and lightning, which no 
 one knew before. I have read also 
 of poor shepherd's boys, who have 
 become great philosophers in the 
 same way. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 81 
 
 If you are only determined to be 
 [earning something all the time, there 
 is no doubt that you will be constantly 
 improving. When your friends see 
 this they will help you, and be glad 
 to instruct you. They will put you 
 in the way of making experiments 
 for yourself, and will furnish you 
 with books and instruments. Thus 
 your very amusements will be full 
 of profit. I am sure that you would 
 find far more entertainment in trying 
 experiments with a little electrical 
 machine than in playing at ball or 
 marbles. And at the same time you 
 would be learning an important sci- 
 ence. You might spend an hour or 
 two in a printing office, learning the 
 way in which books are ,made, and 
 be much more amused than by run- 
 ning about the play-ground. 
 
 So you see that even when you 
 are not in school you maybe constant 
 ly improving your mind. You can- 
 
82 LETTERS TO A 
 
 not open your eyes anywhere, v. . th 
 out beholding something to inquire 
 about; and the more inquiries yon 
 make, the more you will know. 
 This makes one great difference 
 between people; some are anxious 
 to learn, while others do not care 
 whether they learn or not. Be 
 awake, my dear brother, and re 
 member that time is short, and that 
 you must give an account of the 
 w^ay in which you spend every mo- 
 ment. The greater your knowledge 
 is, the more useful may you be to 
 your fellow creatures. 
 
 YQur affectionate brother, 
 
 James, 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 83 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 rfl t 1 IREE SELF-TAUGHT SCOTCH 
 LADS. 
 
 My lear brother, — You have good 
 teachers and parents who dehght in 
 giving you all the books and all the 
 instructions which you need. For 
 these favours you ought to be thank- 
 ful to your heavenly Father; and 
 this should make you more diligent 
 than you have ever been before. I 
 wish to give you some account, at 
 this time, of the way in which cer- 
 tain young persons, without your ad- 
 vantages, became truly learned. I 
 hope that when you see how much 
 progress they made, with every thing 
 against them, you will be encouraged 
 to greater perseverance and improve- 
 ment of your time. 
 
 Did you ever hear of a man named 
 
84 LETTERS TO A 
 
 Edmund Stone ? He was born about 
 a hundred and thirty years ago, in 
 Scotland. Edmund's father was 
 gardener to the Duke of Argyle. 
 This nobleman one day found on 
 the grass a volume of a book called 
 Newton! s Principiay in Latin, and 
 when he made inquiries, learned tha 
 it belonged to young Edmund. He 
 was much astonished to find that his 
 gardener's son could read Latin, or 
 understand mathematics. He said 
 to him, "But how came you by the 
 knowledge of all these things?" '* A 
 servant," said the youth, who was 
 tlien in his eighteenth year, "taught 
 me to read ten years ago. Does one 
 need to know any thing more than 
 the twenty-four letters in order to 
 learn every thing else that one wish- 
 es?" The duke was still more sur- 
 prised; he sat down upon a bank, 
 and received from Edmund the fol- 
 lowing account : 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 85 
 
 *'I first learned to read," said he, 
 ''when the masons were at work 
 upon your house. I approached them 
 one day, and observed that the archi- 
 tect used a rule and compass, and 
 that he made calculations. I inquired 
 what might be the meaning and use 
 of these things, and I was informed 
 that there was a science called arith 
 metic, and I learned it. I was told 
 there was another science called 
 geometry; I bought the necessary 
 books, and I learned geometry. By 
 reading, I found that there were good 
 books in these two sciences in Latin; 
 I bought a dictionary, and I learned 
 Latin. I understood, also, that there 
 were good books of the same kind in 
 French; I bought a dictionary, and I 
 learned French. And this, my lord, 
 is what I have done; it seems to me 
 that we may learn every thing when 
 we know the twenty-four letters of 
 the alphabet." This man afterwards 
 S 
 
86 LETTERS TO A 
 
 became well known as an author, and 
 published a number of mathematical 
 works. 
 
 I will now give you some account 
 of another young Scotchman who 
 was still more extraordinary. I mean 
 the astronomer James Ferguson. He 
 was born in 1710, in Banffshire. 
 His father was a poor but pious day- 
 labourer. James, by hearing his 
 elder brothers taught, learned to read 
 before his father supposed that he 
 knew the letters. When he was 
 seven or eight years old, he began to 
 pay attention to mechanical contri- 
 vances, and actually discovered the 
 principles of the lever, and of the 
 wheel and axle. He was employed 
 as a shepherd, and while his flock 
 was feeding around him, he used to 
 spend his time in making little mills, 
 spinning-wheels, and the like. At 
 night he used to busy himself in 
 lookingr at the stars. He afterwards 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 87 
 
 was employed by a farmer named 
 Glashan. who was very kind lo f^m 
 After his day's work, James ust> so 
 go at night to the fields, with a blan- 
 ket around him, and a lighted candle, 
 and lie down on his back to examine 
 the stars. "I used," says he, '"'to 
 stretch a thread with small beads 
 upon it, at arm's length, between my 
 eye and the stars; sliding the beads 
 upon it, till they hid such and such 
 stars from my eye, in order to take 
 their apparent distances from one 
 another; and then laying the thread 
 down OD a paper, I marked the stars 
 thereon by the beads." Mr. Gil- 
 christ, the minister, showed him how 
 to draw maps, and gave him com- 
 passes, rules, &c. In his twentieth 
 year he w^ent to live in the house of 
 a Mr. Grant, whose butler taught 
 him how to make dials, and also 
 instructed him in arithmetic. After 
 his return to his father's house, he 
 
88 LETTERS TO A 
 
 procured a book of geography, and 
 made a globe of wood, which he 
 covered with paper, and drew a map 
 of the world on it This he did be- 
 fore he had ever seen an artificial 
 globe. Next he was employed by a 
 miller, and here he lived so poorly, 
 that often his only fare was a little 
 oatmeal and water. After being 
 some time in the service of a phy- 
 sician, he returned home again, 'in 
 ill-health. Here he made a wooden 
 clock, and then a wooden watch, with- 
 out the least assistance or instruction. 
 From this he went on and made 
 some dials. Afterwards he became 
 a painter, but still gave most of his 
 time to philosophy; so that in the 
 end he was a distinguished author, 
 and a member of the Royal Society. 
 Such accounts as these ought to 
 make you ashamed to be idle. If a 
 gardener and a shepherd's boy, in 
 the midst of hard work, could learn 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 89 
 
 SO much without an)^ teachers, how 
 much might you acquire, who have 
 nothing to do but to learn, and have 
 the contmual assistance of friends 
 and teachers ! 
 
 But there is still another Scotch- 
 man, whom I shall introduce to your 
 acquaintance, namely, the late Dr. 
 Alexander Murray. He was born in 
 the shire of Kirkcudbright, in 1775, 
 and was the son of a shepherd. He 
 learned to write and read at once, 
 for his father used to draw the let- 
 ters for him on the board of an old 
 wool-card, with a bit of burnt stick. 
 Much of his time was passed in 
 writing with coals, and he became 
 wonderfully familiar with the Scrip- 
 tures. His mother's brother, when 
 he was about nine years old, took 
 him to New Galloway, to school, 
 where he lost his health. For a 
 number of years, his only reading 
 was the Bible, and such penny bal- 
 
90 LETTERS TO A 
 
 lads as are hawked about the streets. 
 In 1787, he read Josephus, and Sal- 
 mon's geography; he then undertook 
 to teach the children of two farmers, 
 and for a winter's work received 
 sixteen shillings. He then went to 
 school again, and learned arithmetic 
 and book-keeping. 
 
 The reading of Salmon's geogra- 
 phy had led him to think much about 
 foreign countries, and their lan- 
 guages. "I had," says he, ''in 1787 
 and 1788, often admired and mused 
 on the specimens of the Lord's prayer 
 in every language, found in Salmon's 
 grammar. I had read in the Maga- 
 zine and Spectator that Homer, Vir- 
 gil, Milton, Shakspeare, and Newton 
 were the greatest of mankind. I had 
 been early informed that Hebrew^ 
 was the first language, by some good 
 religious people. In 1789 an old 
 woman showed me her psalm book, 
 which was printed with a large type, 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 91 
 
 had notes oireach page, and likewise 
 what I discovered to be the Hebrew 
 alphabet, marked letter after letter in 
 the 119th psalm. I took a copy of 
 these letters by printing them off in 
 my old way, and kept them." He 
 undertook to teach himself French, 
 and from this he w^ent to the Latin 
 grammar, of which he borrowed a 
 copy from a boy. And this extraor- 
 dinary child, with hardly any assist- 
 ance, was pursuing at one time the 
 study of Latin, French, Greek, and 
 Hebrew. But I cannot go on to 
 mention all the languages he learned. 
 There was probably no man living 
 who knew so many, and in all of 
 these he was self-taught. He wrote 
 some of the most learned works 
 which have ever appeared, and died 
 at the early age of thirty-eight. It 
 was his thirst for knowledge and his 
 constant application which made him 
 learned; and this shows the truth 
 
92 LETTERS TO A 
 
 of what I before told you, — that he 
 who is really desirous of acquiring 
 information will always succeed. 
 
 I might mention other m stances. 
 William Gifford, the late learned 
 editor of the Quarterly Review, was 
 first a sailor-boy on a coal-vessel, 
 and then a shoemaker. He used to 
 learn mathematics while he was 
 making shoes, and having no pen 
 or paper, he beat out pieces of leather 
 as smooth as possible, and wrought 
 his problems on them with a blunted 
 awl. In the same way he used to 
 wTite verses. He afterwards became 
 one of the most celebrated scholars. 
 And there are many other such 
 cases which I can point out for your 
 perusal in various books. But I 
 must now conclude, heartily wish- 
 ing that you ma}^ profit by whatever 
 is good in every example. 
 
 I am your aifectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
YOUNGFR BROTHER. 93 
 
 LETTER XL 
 
 THE FORMATION OF HABITS. 
 
 My dear brother, — Some of the 
 subjects upon which I intend to 
 address you, will perhaps seem 
 small. Nothing is small, however, 
 or unimportant, which concerns the 
 forming of your habits. You are 
 now forming a character for life, 
 and, as I have intimated in a former 
 letter, ten years hence it will be too 
 late to amend what is done amiss 
 now. 
 
 Near the place where I write, a 
 number of men are busied in build- 
 ing a large house. They are carry- 
 ing up thick walls of solid stone. 
 Now I observe that they are very 
 careful in laying these stones. They 
 are constantly measuring with the 
 rule and the plummet, to make 
 
94 LETTERS TO A 
 
 every part exactly as it should be. 
 And they have reason for this, be- 
 cause, if, six months hence, they 
 should find out that their wall was 
 not perpendicular, or their founda- 
 tion not strong, they could do no- 
 thing to remedy it, but to take down 
 their work and do it over again. 
 So it is with you. Every habit you 
 form is one stone laid in your cha- 
 racter. At this earl)^ age you may 
 correct bad habits, but it will be all 
 but impossible when you shall have 
 become a man. Besides, the cha- 
 racter of a youth is fixed, as to great 
 matters, much sooner than many 
 suppose. Not long ago, I came to a 
 place in which I had spent many 
 of my youthful days, and saw seve- 
 ral of my playmates. They are now 
 men and women, and some of them 
 have children as old as I was when 
 we all went to school together. Other 
 changes have taken place, but in 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 95 
 
 almost every one I see the same 
 general character. 
 
 Let me give yon an instance. 
 There is John Smith, who was the 
 most diHgent boy in the school. He 
 is still diligent, and has gained so 
 much knowledge that he is thought 
 to be the wisest lawyer in the State. 
 There is Samuel Johnson, who was 
 idle, sleepy, careless, fond of his 
 bed, and fond of eating. He is still 
 the same sluggish creature ; he still 
 rises several hours after the sun; 
 he eats, and drinks, and slumbers. 
 His little property is gone ; his coat 
 is out at the elbows ; he has lately 
 been released from imprisonment, 
 and will be Lazy Sam (I fear) as 
 long as he lives. 
 
 Religion, I know, works great and 
 happy changes in some, even late in 
 life. But what I desire for you is, 
 that religion may work this change 
 early in life ; or rather that the grace 
 
96 LETTERS 10 A 
 
 of God may so mould your character 
 now^ that in these particulars there 
 may be no need of a change so 
 radical. For it is better to lay the 
 foundation right at the beginning, 
 than to tear down the whole walls to 
 put right what is found to be wrong. 
 That is, it is better for a boy to 
 form right habits, from the fear of 
 God, in his boyhood, than to live in 
 wrong habits twenty years, and then 
 try to change them when it is too 
 late. I know some pious persons 
 who are mourning every day over 
 the bad habits of their childhood. 
 Thus they know it is a sin to be 
 slothful, yet they find it too late to 
 acquire diligence, and they lounge 
 all day over newspapers, or trifling 
 oonversation, when they might be 
 doing something to benefit their own 
 souls or those of their neighbours. 
 
 The proverb of the ancients is 
 good, Do what is right, however un- 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 97 
 
 pleasant, and custom will make it 
 delightful. You know a little boy, 
 who lives near you, who makes it a 
 rule to walk four miles before break- 
 fast every morning. When he be- 
 gan this it was very irksome, and 
 he was often tempted to give it up ; 
 but his father told him that " custom 
 would make it delightful," and he 
 persevered. This became true ; he 
 would not now miss his morning 
 walk on any account. I have no 
 doubt he will retain the habit through 
 life, and it will probably keep him a 
 robust, healthy man for many years. 
 Those little things which seem hard 
 to you, in your studies, are of the 
 same kind. Do not give way, like 
 a coward, to every difficulty. It is 
 like diving into the river, which 
 you used to do with me; the first 
 dash only is disagreeable. Make it 
 a rule to conquer difficulties. In 
 
 9 
 
98 LETTERS TO A 
 
 this respect be a man at once. In 
 your Latin, your arithmetic, or your 
 exercises, he brave. Form a habit 
 of not leaving any thing half-done. 
 In the long run it is the easiest way 
 to master every thing before you 
 leave it. Some boys, for instance, 
 never learn the Greek verb per- 
 fectly. This they might do in a 
 few days. But they prefer skim- 
 ming over the lesson, and leave the 
 master to help them out. Now, 
 just look at what follows; every 
 day, as long as they learn Greek, 
 they feel their need of this know- 
 ledge. Every day they are morti- 
 fied, if not disgraced or punished. 
 Yet the hahit of negligence sticks by 
 them. It creeps into other things. 
 For the very same reasons, they are 
 negligent in composition, in mathe- 
 matics, and in oratory. They fix 
 the habit for life, and for life are 
 negligent fellows. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 99 
 
 Remember, my dear brother, that 
 it is not what you actually learn 
 that is solely important. By learn- 
 ing this or that, you not only trea- 
 sure up such and such things in 
 your memory, but you discipline 
 your mind. That is, you form 
 habits of mind. When a person's 
 mind is tutored into good habits, he 
 is said to have a disciplined mind. 
 One may learn a great many things, 
 and yet have an undisciplined mind, 
 because he learned them carelessly, 
 hastily, or in the wrong order. Just 
 as the poor beggar, who used to 
 come to our door, knew more poetry 
 than all of us put together, while he 
 was so far from being wise that he 
 could not put two ideas together 
 in the way of reasoning. You are 
 young, and cannot choose for your- 
 self what is best. But your teachers 
 select those studies which will tend 
 
100 LETTERS TO A 
 
 to give your mind proper habits 
 Pay all possible attention to these 
 studies. Be perfect in them. Every 
 hour now is worth more to you than 
 a day is to me. Every day is con- 
 firming you in some habit, either 
 good or bad. And if you are not 
 careful to aim at those which are 
 good, you will most assuredly fall 
 into such as are bad. You cannot 
 be too much in earnest then ; attend 
 to every thing which your teacher 
 advises. Several things are apt to 
 be neglected by boys which they 
 find very important when ihey come 
 to be men. Your time of rising, 
 your attention to personal neatness, 
 your punctuality at school, your 
 bedily exercise, your pronunciation 
 and manners, your temperance and^ 
 self-denial, your accuracy in study, 
 all these things are contributing to 
 make you (if your life should be 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 101 
 
 spared) a useful, agreeable, wise, 
 and happy man, or a disgusting, 
 ignorant, and discontented booby. 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DANGER OF EVIL COMPANY. 
 
 My dear brother, — From your ear 
 I '.est infancy you have been taught 
 to avoid bad company, and I hope 
 you see the importance of this more 
 and more. Our manners, our habits, 
 and our ways of thinking are gather- 
 ed very much from the persons 
 with whom we associate. If you 
 are pleased with the society of idle, 
 irreligious, or profane boys, it is a 
 sure sign that you are already cor- 
 rupted. And the longer you con- 
 9* 
 
102 LETTERS TO A 
 
 tinue m their company the more 
 you will be injured. 
 
 In every school there are some 
 lads who are seducers and corrupters 
 of the rest. They are not always 
 rude or insolent, nor so openly wick- 
 ed as to shock you at the first ac- 
 quaintance. Often they are young 
 persons of good manners and gentle 
 behaviour; but under this cloak, 
 they are false, malignant, or licen- 
 tious. When you first become ac- 
 quainted with them, you are charmed 
 by their pleasant deportment ; and it 
 is not for a good w^hile that you find 
 out their real character. 
 
 There is a saying of a Latin poet 
 v^hich is very true, '' No one ever 
 became profligate all at once." The 
 first steps are very slight. The pro- 
 gress is almost imperceptible. When 
 a boy who has been piously educated 
 first comes among ungodly com 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 103 
 
 panions, he is shocked with their 
 wickedness. He trembles when he 
 hears them profane the name of 
 God, and retreats from their pre- 
 sence. Their immodest conversa- 
 tion causes him to blush. When 
 they tell wilful falsehoods, he is 
 frightened at their daring. After 
 having been some time in their com- 
 pany, this alarm and horror give 
 way. He still dislikes their wicked 
 words and actions, but his ear be- 
 comes familiar to the unholy sounds, 
 and he grows used to their impieties. 
 Perhaps a boyish curiosity leads him 
 to mingle in their circle, and listen 
 to their tales. By degrees he is in- 
 different to what at first so much 
 startled him. Evil communications 
 corrupt good manners, and he grows 
 more and more like his company. 
 Unless restrained by divine grace, 
 he becomes worse every day. Be- 
 ginning with foolish exclamations 
 
104 LETTERS TO A 
 
 and minced oaths, he at length de- 
 sires to appear manly and spirited, 
 and ventures upon some profane 
 expression. At his first oath, it is 
 likely he turns pale or feels an in- 
 ward shuddering. But by degrees 
 this goes off. He is shamed out of 
 his early principles, and tries to let 
 his companions see that he is as 
 fearless as themselves. So he pro- 
 ceeds, (if not arrested,) until he 
 becomes a complete profligate. 
 
 Alas ! this is the course of many 
 a young man over whom the tears 
 of piety have been shed. Many a 
 youth has thus gone on, till he has 
 broken a tender mother's heart, and 
 brought down her " gray hairs with 
 sorrow to the grave." Evil company 
 is one of the chief things which cor- 
 rupt youth. Without bad compa* 
 nions, they would not learn to swear, 
 to curse, or to use indelicate language ; 
 without bad companions, they would 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 105 
 
 not be tempted to taste intoxicating 
 drinks, to play at games of hazard, 
 or to practise dishonesty. It is 
 likely that Satan tempts quite as 
 much by wicked persons (who are 
 his tools) as he does directly by his 
 own suggestions to our hearts. 
 
 As no one can touch pitch with- 
 out being defiled, so no young person 
 can be much with wicked playmates 
 without being corrupted. Do not 
 be deceived about this. We all 
 think a great deal of our own reso- 
 lution, and perhaps you will flatter 
 yourself that you are not to be in- 
 fluenced by bad companions. '' Let 
 him that thinketh he standeth take 
 heed lest he fall." The only safety 
 is in flight. You cannot sincerely 
 pray, " Lead us not into temptation," 
 if you rush into bad company, which 
 is one of the very w^orst of all temp- 
 tations. It may be the duty of some 
 persons to go among the wicked, to 
 
106 LETTERS TO A 
 
 do them good ; just as it may be the 
 duty of some persons to go into a 
 fire, to put it out. But it would be 
 the height of presumptuous folly to 
 walk through the raging flames with- 
 out necessity ; and it is just as pre- 
 sumptuous and as foolish to frequent 
 the society of the wicked. 
 
 One of the principal disadvantages 
 of irreligious company is, that it pre- 
 vents or destroys serious impressions 
 on the heart. As soon as wicked 
 youth perceive that one of their 
 number is thinking about religion, 
 they all turn upon him in ridicule. 
 And in too many cases they are suc- 
 cessful. The poor deluded coward 
 is more afraid of their scorn than of 
 the wrath of God. He is ashamed 
 to let it be known that he prays or 
 reads the Bible. Thousands and 
 thousands have thus been drawn 
 away from the door of life by the 
 taunts of scoffers. Now, my dear 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 107 
 
 Drotber, as you value your immortal 
 «oul, beware of tbis. Never be 
 isbamed of Christ. And to avoid 
 tbis temptation, avoid all wicked 
 companions. Consider carefully wbo 
 are your intimates. If tbere is among 
 tbem a single boy wbo is idle, pro- 
 fane, lewd, deceitful, false, or quar- 
 relsome, shun that hoy. Break off 
 all acquaintance witb bim at once. 
 Have as little to say to bim and to 
 do witb bim as possible. You need 
 not offend him, but you must assu- 
 redly avoid bim. The psalmist 
 describes the good man as one who 
 " walketb not in the counsel of the 
 ungodly, nor standeth in the way 
 of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of 
 the scornful." Solomon says, " My 
 son, if sinners entice thee, consent 
 thou not : my son, walk not thou in 
 the way witb them, refrain thy foot 
 from their path." Read also the 
 following passages : '* Enter not into 
 
108 LETTERS TO A 
 
 the path of the wicked, and go not 
 in the way of evil men ; avoid it, 
 pass not hy it. turn from it, and pass 
 awayy " Forsake the foohsh, and 
 live, and go in the way of under- 
 standing." "He that walketh with 
 the wise shall be wise ; but a com- 
 panion of fools shall be destroyed." 
 
 By acting in the way which I 
 recommend, it is possible that you 
 may displease some of your school- 
 mates; but it is better to displease 
 them than to offend God. And in 
 the end, it is very likely that even 
 they will see that your way of life is 
 better than theirs. Remember, that 
 the path of youth is beset with 
 dangers, and ask help of God, and 
 instruction from his word. '' How 
 shall a young man cleanse his way ? 
 By taking heed thereto according to 
 thy word." Farewell. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 109 
 
 LETTER XIII. 
 
 FRIENDSHIPS. 
 
 My dear brother, — Tell me your 
 company, says a proverb, and I ?viU 
 tell you what you are. This is a text 
 on which I have several times en- 
 larged, in my previous letters. It is^ 
 a sentiment which you should con- 
 stantly remember, for it will make 
 your friendships safe and delightful,, 
 and will also preserve you from 
 many of the misfortunes into which 
 unwary youth are prone to fall. 
 
 But after you have made choice 
 of your acquaintances, after you 
 have discouraged the familiarities 
 of wicked youth, and formed a little 
 circle of proper companions, it is 
 right that you should pay special 
 attention to another point of duty. 
 It is the regulation of your conduct 
 
 10 
 
110 LETTERS TO A 
 
 towards those with whom you are 
 intimate. In this particular, boys 
 are always unguarded; every one is 
 liable to err on one side or the other. 
 I hope, therefore, that a few brief 
 directions may not be thrown away 
 upon you. 
 
 Be cautious and slow in choosing 
 
 your friends. This is what you 
 
 Hmve already learned, and it is mere- 
 
 Ily introductory to the rules and 
 
 counsels which follow. 
 
 When you have acquired a good 
 friend^ he firm and constant in your 
 attachment. It is very disgraceful 
 to abandon a friend without cause. 
 None are so ready to sin in this 
 way as those rash youth who are 
 too hasty in becoming intimate with 
 every new acquaintance. The na- 
 tural consequence is, that after a 
 few days or weeks, they begin to 
 perceive faults which they had not 
 previously allowed themselves time 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. Ill 
 
 to discern. They then become dis- 
 gusted, grow cool in their affection, 
 and are forced to look around them 
 for some new associate. Such was 
 the manner of Julius. Whenever a 
 new scholar arrived, Julius was the 
 first to take him by the hand. And 
 this was not a mere pretence, for 
 he felt the friendship he professed. 
 But he did not take time to study 
 the character of his playmates, and 
 therefore it was only two or three 
 days before he found out some foible 
 in the new-comer, and cast him off 
 as speedily as he had at first em- 
 braced him. Then he attached him- 
 self to another, and another ; and so 
 he went on, until he had, at some 
 time or other, been familiar with the 
 whole school, and had abandoned 
 them all in turn. Julius changed 
 his friends almost as often as his 
 clothes. Such a young man is in- 
 capable of true friendship ; and his 
 
112 LETTERS TO A 
 
 reigning fault is soon discovered by 
 every one. Julius is despised as a 
 fickle and inconstant fellow. 
 
 Beware of trusting too mucli to the 
 professions of your companions. I 
 would not have you surly, morose, 
 or suspicious ; but all is not gold that 
 glitters. The human heart is deceit- 
 ful, and those who really love you 
 to-day may be altered to-morrow 
 When you have tried a friend, and 
 found him faithful, you may safely 
 confide to him even your private 
 thoughts ; but take care that you are 
 not deceived. Especially avoid the 
 practice of telling secrets, particularly 
 the secrets of other people, to your 
 young acquaintances. It is a gene- 
 ral rule, which it will be safe for you 
 to observe, never to confide a secret 
 to any one, unless you want either 
 advice or assistance. For, if you 
 cannot keep your own counsel, how 
 can you expect others to keep it for 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 113 
 
 you? Whenever, therefore, you 
 meet with a person who is frequently 
 taking you aside, to whisper some- 
 thing into your ear, "m confidence,''^ 
 you may be sure he is an unsafe 
 companion. Tell no secrets of your 
 own to such a one; and listen to as 
 few of his as possible. 
 
 Cherish a warm attachment to your 
 friends when they are in any trouble. 
 '' A friend in need is a friend indeed." 
 And Solomon says: "He that is a 
 friend must show himself friendly." 
 To forsake a companion in the time 
 when he most needs your assistance 
 is base, it is inhuman. The very 
 heathen may teach us a good lesson 
 on this subject. '' The name of friend- 
 ship," says Ovid, ''touches the hearts 
 of the very barbarians." Cicero 
 wrote a whole book on the subject 
 of friendship, and it is full of excel- 
 lent sentiments. You have perhaps 
 read the beautiful anecdote of Damon 
 
 10* 
 
Ii4 LETTERS TO A 
 
 and Pythias; it is related by Valerius 
 Maximus. Damon was condemned 
 to death by Dionysiiis the tyrant. 
 He obtained leave, however, to go 
 home and settle his affairs, promising 
 to return to the place of execution at 
 a certain hour. And his friend 
 Pythias surrendered himself to the 
 tyrant, and agreed that if Damon 
 was not there at the time, he would 
 himself suffer the punishment in 
 his place. Dionysius naturally con- 
 cluded that Pythias was a fool, and 
 that Damon would be glad of such 
 an opportunity to escape. But, be- 
 hold ! w^hen the hour arrived, to the 
 astonishment of all, Damon appeared 
 punctually at the place, and declared 
 that he was ready to die. The cruel 
 king was touched by this ardent 
 friendship; he forgave the offender, 
 and begged that he might be num- 
 bered among their friends. 
 
 This reminds me also of a severe 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 115 
 
 ?aying of the cynic Diogenes. When 
 he was asked how Dionysius treated 
 his friends, he replied, *' Just as one 
 treats earthen vessels; when they 
 are fall, he empties them; when 
 they are empty, he throws them 
 aside." 
 
 Be forbeaiing towards the faults 
 of a friend. True, you must not 
 love or copy his faults; indeed, it is 
 an important part of friendship to re- 
 prove and correct them. But do not 
 abandon an acquaintance for a few 
 faults, or even for a great one, if he 
 has been truly faithful, and if you 
 are not endangered by his exam- 
 ple. 
 
 Cherish a mild and benevolent tern- 
 per in all your intercourse. An irri- 
 table young man can scarcely be a 
 good companion; and the ill-humour 
 is contagious. The wisest of kings 
 teaches us this lesson: "Make no 
 
116 LETTERS TO A 
 
 friendship with an angry man ; and 
 with a furious man thou shalt not 
 go; lest thou learn his ways, and 
 get a snare to thy soul." Prov. 
 xxii. 24. 
 
 Never do a wrong thing for the 
 sake of friendship. If you seriously 
 observe this rule, it will keep you 
 from a thousand mischiefs. When 
 Pericles was asked by an intimate 
 acquaintance to bear false witness 
 for him, that great man answered, 
 "I am your friend only to the altars," 
 meaning, that he w^ould go as far to 
 help him as religion would allow. 
 
 Try to make salutary impressions 
 on the mmd% of your friends. Many 
 thousands have been converted by 
 means of friendl}^ ad monition. If our 
 acquaintances w^ere sick, we would 
 try to heal them; how much more 
 should we try to save their souls ! A 
 single word of affectionate advice 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 1 
 
 sometimes does more good than many 
 sermons. And when a youth pro- 
 fesses to serve God, he ought to be 
 neither ashamed nor afraid to open 
 his lips in behalf of his Master's 
 cause. 
 
 I trust these few directions (which 
 I might multiply a hundred-fold) will 
 be carefully read by you, and faith- 
 fully put in practice. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James 
 
118 LETTERS TO A 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 GOOD EXAMPLE. 
 
 My dear h'Other, — When I wrote 
 to you about the dangers of evil com- 
 pany, I did not wish you to suppose 
 that you must avoid all society. 
 This would be very wrong, and 
 would make you mopish and sullen. 
 I desire you to frequent the company 
 of all such young friends as can do 
 you good; and I hope there are some 
 whose example you would do well to 
 follow. When you find such a one, 
 who is diligent, kind, respectful, and 
 serious, you will act wisely to be as 
 much as possible with him, and to 
 follow in his steps. 
 
 It is very true, as is often said, that 
 example speaks louder than words. 
 We often think that certain things 
 are impossible until we see them 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 119 
 
 done by others, and then we begin 
 to attempt them ourselves. There 
 is something in our nature which 
 leads us to imitate the example of 
 those around us. It is thus that all 
 the boys in a school will have the 
 same sports and pastimes ; one learns 
 from another, until they all go in the 
 same path. Now you should take 
 care to follow none but good exam- 
 ples; and here you will have to be 
 very cautious, for our evil hearts lead 
 us more naturally to what is evil than 
 to what is virtuous. There is no- 
 thing mean or low in copying the 
 good example of your friends. It is 
 in this way that some of the best and 
 greatest men have become what they 
 are. 
 
 I would recommend to you to read 
 the lives of persons who have been 
 remarkable for their knowledge or 
 their goodness. When these me- 
 moirs are well written, it is almost 
 
120 LETTERS TO A 
 
 as if we were acquainted with the 
 living persons, seeing them act and 
 hearing them speak. There is no 
 kind of reading which is more enter- 
 taining than biography, and there is 
 none which is more instructive. In 
 this way you may be constantly set- 
 ting before your mind the brightest 
 examples, and this will stir you up 
 to be more active in trying to im- 
 prove. I have never found any 
 books which made me more anxious 
 t-o excel, than good biographical 
 sketches. When you read of a per- 
 son who has raisecl himself from ig- 
 norance and obscurity to learning 
 and honour, by his own endeavours, 
 a laudable emulation will lead you 
 to imitate his excellence. Thus the 
 Life of Dr. Franklin has caused 
 many a young mechanic to store his 
 mind with knowledge. 
 
 But the best of all biographies are 
 those which are contained in the 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 121 
 
 Holy Scriptures. Have you ever 
 taken notice how much of the Bible 
 is filled with the memoirs of good 
 men? The reason of this no doubt 
 is, that example is so much more 
 powerful than precept. The four 
 gospels contain the memoirs of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ. And they are 
 so beautifully simple, so exact, and 
 so touching, that we seem to see the 
 blessed Redeemer, holy and benevo- 
 lent, going about doing good, heal- 
 ing the sick, cleansing the lepers, 
 raising the dead. We seem to hear 
 him speaking as never man spake, 
 and the influence of his example is 
 most powerful upon the mind of the 
 serious reader. My dear brother, 
 read these lovely histories every day. 
 Try to frame in your mind all the 
 circumstances of the scenes there 
 described. Endeavour to feel that 
 it is Christ himself who is speaking 
 to you, and let his words sink into 
 
 \l 
 
122 LETTERS TO A 
 
 your heart. Find out how he acted 
 under all different circumstances, 
 and then copy his example. How 
 did he treat his parents? (Luke ii. 
 48 and 51.) How did he feel to- 
 wards the afflicted? How did he 
 act when he was reviled and perse- 
 cuted? What was his manner as to 
 prayer and devotion? Every hour 
 of the day be careful to ask yourself 
 how the Lord Jesus would have act- 
 ed under similar circumstances. 
 
 It is an advantage for young people 
 to keep compan}^ with those who are 
 older and wiser ; but there are few 
 youth who have any taste for this 
 kind of society. They are too apt to 
 think that elderly persons are sour 
 and gloomy. And sometimes, it can- 
 not be denied that those who are ad- 
 vanced in years do not take pains to 
 gratify the inquiries of the young, 
 and to do them good. When, how- 
 ever, you find any aged man who 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 123 
 
 loves to give instruction to the young, 
 and v^hose example is beautiful and 
 pure, try to be as much v^ith him as 
 possible. I have known such a one. 
 Benevolus is a man of threescore 
 years. His hair is white with age, 
 and he is too feeble to leave the 
 house. But he is happy, because he 
 has faith in Christ, and enjoys the 
 love of God shed abroad in his heart. 
 There is nothing peevish or morose 
 about him, and he welcomes the 
 visits of all his young relations and 
 friends. He delights in teaching 
 them what is good, and in giving 
 them the history of his early days. 
 And all who come into his presence 
 see the excellence of true religion, 
 and the advantage of having a mind 
 stored with useful knowledge. 
 
 I have said so much about follow- 
 i7ig good example, that it will be less 
 needful for me to explain the import- 
 ance of your setting a good example 
 
124 LETTERS TO A 
 
 f» others. No one of us is allowed 
 1x3 live for himself alone, but we 
 must all endeavour to do good to 
 others. We are commanded to let 
 our light shine before men. You 
 must not suppose that, because you 
 are so young, nobody will follow 
 your example. If you do what is 
 wrong, others of your companions 
 will be encouraged to do the same; 
 and if you do what is right, you may 
 be a blessing to all around you. One 
 boy in a school will often be of ser- 
 vice to all the rest, just in this way. 
 I will give you an instance of such a 
 case, and take notice that I some- 
 times invent names, because I have 
 reasons for not mentioning the indi- 
 viduals. 
 
 Tyro was a young lad of about 
 fourteen. He was sent to a school 
 where most of the boys were very 
 idle. They cared but little aboul 
 the improvement of their minds, and 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 125 
 
 were constantly engaged in sports and 
 mischief. Tyro tried to set them 
 a better example. He got every les- 
 son perfectly, and he assisted others 
 in their tasks. He made it his amuse- 
 ment to read more than was assigned 
 for liis lesson, and he induced some 
 of the idle fellows to become diligent. 
 He put them in the way of attempt- 
 ing new studies, and of writing com- 
 positions. He persuaded them to 
 form a little society for mutual im- 
 provement, and had many little plans 
 of this kind, for their benefit. The 
 consequence was, that I never saw a 
 school of the same extent, in which 
 there were so many fine scholars. 
 And I am sure that Tyro was more 
 influential in this than even the 
 teacher himself. Think of this ex- 
 ample. 
 
 You cannot go through life without 
 having some influence upon others. 
 This influence is either for good or 
 11* 
 
126 LETTERS TO A 
 
 for evil. You may be either a bless- 
 ing or a curse. Pray and strive that 
 your example may do good to all 
 around you. Endeavour to lead 
 others in the right w^ay, especialh'^ 
 the way of religion. You cannot 
 begin this too soon, and in future life, 
 it will be very pleasing for you to 
 look back and see that you had early 
 begun to be useful to your fellow 
 creatures. Ask assistance from 
 above, that you may be enabled to 
 live in this way. And remember 
 that many eyes are fixed upon you, 
 to see how you will act, and that the 
 happiness of your friends, and espe- 
 cially of your affectionate parents, 
 depends greatly upon your conduct. 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. * 127 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. 
 
 My dear brother^ — Few names are 
 considered more disgraceful than that 
 of a liar. This is justly so; for 
 the vice is odious, injurious to so- 
 ciety, and offensive to God. Truth 
 is the chief bond between man and 
 man in society. If every one spoke 
 without regard to truth, our reputa- 
 tion, property, and lives would be in 
 jeopardy every moment. We should 
 never know when to believe a neigh- 
 bour ; or by believing falsehood, we 
 might be led into the greatest danger. 
 
 You will commonly take notice 
 that boys who lie, very soon show 
 that they are ready for other vices 
 He who can so violate his conscience 
 as to tell a wilful lie, will soon find 
 
128 ' LETTERS TO A 
 
 it equally easy to violate his ^')n- 
 science by cursing, swearing, or 
 stealing. Indeed, lying and stealing 
 are nearly related. Lying is dis- 
 honesty in words ; theft is dishonesty 
 in deeds. I know a young man at 
 school who was noted for his disre- 
 gard of truth. He became a physi- 
 cian, and very soon after was con- 
 victed of a very atrocious act of 
 dishonesty. Another was for a long 
 time suspected of no crime but false- 
 hood ; it was not long, however, be- 
 fore he was caught stealing the 
 wearing apparel of his friends. Both 
 these were young men of liberal 
 education. 
 
 The great reason why we should 
 maintain the truth is, that God re- 
 quires it of us. ^' Putting away 
 lying, speak every man truth with 
 his neighbour ; for we are members 
 one of another." Eph. iv. 25 . False- 
 hood is hateful to God. We seem 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 129 
 
 to offer him a direct insult whenever 
 we speak what is untrue, because 
 he is always present, and nothing 
 can escape his omniscience. 
 
 Whenever we wilfully deceive, 
 we are guilty of falsehood, whatever 
 be the words uttered. Indeed, we 
 we may lie without uttering any 
 words at all — by mere signs. We 
 may deceive by being altogether 
 silent ; and this is wrong in all cases 
 where others have a right to any 
 information from us. From this you 
 will perceive that all equivocations, 
 or expressions with two meanings, 
 are falsehoods, when the person 
 hearing them understands them so 
 as to be deceived by them. I would 
 earnestly recommend to you to avoid 
 even the very appearance of evil in 
 this thing, and never, even in jest, to 
 sport with truth. It is so awful a 
 thing to offend God by a lie, that it 
 is the part of wisdom never to speak 
 
130 LETTERS TO A 
 
 what is untrue, even for the purposes 
 of amusement. 
 
 I am afraid that young persons at 
 our pubhc schools are too httle im- 
 pressed with the importance of this 
 subject. It is often thought quite a 
 feat when a boy, by a clever false- 
 hood, can escape punishment for a 
 fault ; and thus by treating a great 
 sin in a very trifling matter, the con- 
 science becomes seared as with a hot 
 iron. It is alarming to see how 
 readily children learn to depart from 
 the truth, and how hard it is to era- 
 dicate the habit. I know people 
 whom I consider pious, but who 
 have never entirely overcome the 
 propensity to stretch their expres- 
 sions beyond the actual fact. This 
 is what is called exaggeration or 
 hyperbole, both which words mean 
 about the same ; that is, heaping up 
 expressions beyond the simple mat- 
 ter described, or letting our language 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 131 
 
 shoot over the plain truth. Avoid 
 this. It is here, if anywhere, that 
 you are in danger. I cannot believe 
 that you would tell a wilful false- 
 hood; but most young persons are 
 apt to exaggerate. Thus, if a ser- 
 vant neglects your horse two or three 
 times, you will perhaps say in anger, 
 *^ Thomas has forgotten to feed my 
 horse every day:'' or, "he never 
 thinks of feeding my horse." Thus, 
 also, in describing a thunder-storm, 
 some persons always describe it as 
 the loudest and most alarming they 
 ever heard in their lives. This sort 
 of exaggeration is most common 
 among those who have been accus- 
 tomed to the use of hyperbolical or 
 extravagant phrases in common dis- 
 course. Thus some persons cannot 
 speak of a hearty laugh without say- 
 ing, " He almost killed himself with 
 laughing." Every warm day is the 
 hottest they ever felt; and every 
 
132 LETTERS TO A 
 
 ungainly man, the ugliest man they 
 ever saw. Beware of all such un- 
 meaning exaggerations, for you may 
 be assured they lead to the evil habit 
 against which I am warning you. 
 
 It is commonly said, and with 
 truth, that great talkers are apt to 
 exaggerate. I hope you will never 
 become noted as a great talker; 
 although I have met with persons 
 who seemed to take a vulgar pride 
 in their very loquacity. "In the 
 multitude of words, there lacketh not 
 sin," and you will be upon the safe 
 side by repressing your desire to 
 talk. Very loquacious persons com- 
 monly talk much nonsense, and, in 
 order to excite attention, sometimes 
 set their invention to work, and give 
 a high colour to all they describe. 
 Let me enjoin it upon you, to fix in 
 your mind a sacred reverence for 
 truth; and whenever you describe 
 any incident, take care to describe it 
 
. YOUNGER BROTHER. 133 
 
 precisely as it occurred. Even let 
 your description be fiat or cold, 
 rather than run the risk of exag- 
 geration. 
 
 Let your soul be impressed with 
 the awful majesty of God, as being 
 the witness of every word you utter, 
 and you will lose all temptation to 
 violate the truth. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
 12 
 
134 LETTERS TO A 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 My dear brother^ — The ancients 
 made fortitude one ot the four cardi- 
 nal virtues ; meaning by this term, 
 not merely the power of enduring 
 pain, but every thing that we now 
 call courage ; and they used to say, 
 with truth, that where there w^as no 
 fortitude, the other virtues w^ere left 
 defenceless. I have often thought 
 that half the bad actions of boys 
 arise from a sort of cowardice, a 
 want of manly independence. Peter 
 vrill not wear his new hat for several 
 days after he gets it, for fear James 
 will laugh at him. And James, 
 though he knows it is wrong to play 
 truant, does so, lest Charles should 
 think him a coward. In our old- 
 time schools, when we used to " bar 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 135 
 
 out" the master, it was this false 
 shame or want of moral courage 
 which kept most of the lads from 
 surrendering, even after they had 
 found out that they were in the 
 wrong. 
 
 Make it a rule for life to do what 
 you know to be right, no matter 
 what others think or say. Do your 
 duty, and leave the consequences to 
 God. Some people lose their souls 
 from neglect of this. They know 
 very well that they ought to pray, 
 and read the Scriptures, and attend 
 on other means of grace, and own 
 Christ by a public profession ; but 
 they are afraid of the scoffs of the 
 world — they hesitate — they procras- 
 tinate — they are lost. 
 
 Remember, my dear boy, that you 
 are now forming your character for 
 life. When you trained the wood 
 bine around the columns of our 
 piazza, its stock was very slender. 
 
136 LETTERS TO A 
 
 You could bend it with your finger 
 and thumb. I looked at it yester- 
 day ; it is as thick as my wrist, and 
 perfectly hard and immovable. You 
 might break it, but you could not 
 possibly alter its twists. The wood- 
 bine has a habit of being twisted. 
 This habit was formed when it was 
 tender and supple. If it had been 
 trained between long iron bars, I 
 suppose it might have got a habit of 
 being straight. But it is now too 
 late to straighten it. Now, is it not 
 possible that my dear brother is 
 growing crooked? You take my 
 meaning. Is it not possible that 
 you are getting habits which are 
 wrong? My heart's wish is for you 
 to grow up in such a way as to be 
 erect, upright, noble, in all your prin-^^ 
 ciples. If you are always reckoning 
 what John, or Maria, or this man, or 
 those girls, or the world at large will 
 think of you, it is certain you can 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 137 
 
 never nave any manly firmness. I 
 wish you to begin from the hour you 
 read this, to do what is right in every 
 particular, in spite of what ignorant 
 or wicked youth may say. There is 
 Lewis Lee, your Philadelphia ac- 
 quaintance. He is altogether a slave 
 to other people's notions. I remem- 
 ber that last summer he refused to 
 attend his mother to the steamboat, 
 because he had found out that some 
 young gentlemen in Chestnut street 
 had made free with the cut of his 
 coat. Lewis is not afraid of telling 
 an untruth ; but he cannot bear to 
 be the object of ridicule. Again I 
 say, he independent. Try to get right 
 opinions, and to do right acts ; and 
 bid defiance to idle remark. But 
 be not hasty in forming opinions ; 
 be not obstinate in retaining them. 
 Take the advice of the wise and the 
 good, and use every means to learn 
 12* 
 
138 LETTERS TO A 
 
 the best path. Only stick to it when 
 you are sure that you are in it. 
 
 Want of this firmness ruins thou- 
 sands of young men every year. In 
 our colleges, most of the disturbances 
 and rebellions which take place are 
 from this source. A few youth, 
 who are perhaps already in disgrace, 
 inveigle a number of others into 
 their plots ; and the latter, like silly 
 sheep, follow wherever the ringlead- 
 ers go. Why? O, because it would 
 expose them to contempt or insult to 
 go back, or return to honourable obe- 
 dience. They put on a bold face, 
 but they are chicken-hearted in real- 
 ity. Not one of them can stand 
 alone, or think for himself These 
 are the lads who grow up to be 
 "men of honour," (that is the name 
 they have,) duellists, fashionable 
 murderers. O beware of such yield- 
 ing weakness ! Fear God, my child- 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 139 
 
 ren, said a great Frenchman, have no 
 other fear. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
 LETTER XVII. 
 
 FALSE SHAME. 
 
 My dear brother, — Long ago I read 
 in one of Miss Edgeworth's tales a 
 maxim which has remained in my 
 memory ever since. It was to this 
 effect : No one rvill ever become great 
 who is afraid of being laughed at. 
 Now I do not wish you to seek after 
 the empty and false greatness of this 
 world. Ambition of this kind is 
 contrary to the mind of Christ. But 
 I desire you to have true greatness, 
 virtuous independence, frankness, 
 generosity, firmness, and decision of 
 character. 
 
140 LETTERS TO A 
 
 Lv, . It is not necessary for me to spend 
 time in proving to yon that the evil 
 of which I speak is very common. 
 Look around among your acquaint- 
 ances, and you will see many who are 
 more afraid of ridicule than they are 
 of pain. I knew a remarkable in 
 stance of this fault. Lucius was a 
 playmate of mine at school, and a 
 very intimate friend. He was a lad 
 of genius, and of many good qualities, 
 but the fear of ridicule was ruinous 
 to him. It spoiled almost all his fine 
 traits. There was nothing so terri- 
 ble to him as a laugh. At any time 
 he would have chosen a whipping 
 rather than a sneer from his school- 
 mates. He therefore was led to do 
 many wrong things, and kept from 
 doing many right things, by his false 
 shame. Lucius did not stop to ask 
 whether any particular thing was 
 right or wrong in the sight of God ; 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 141 
 
 the first question in his mind was, 
 What will people think of it? 
 
 The effect of this mental disease 
 was soon manifested, and it showed 
 itself in some ways wiiich were really 
 ridiculous. For example, Lucius 
 became so fully possessed of the idea 
 that e very-body was looking at him, 
 and criticising him, that whenever 
 he walked the streets his whole air 
 was affected by it. If he got a new 
 coat, or hat, he was in misery, lest 
 they shouM draw attention. On a 
 certain occasion, I have even known 
 him to walk through a puddle of 
 water in order to conceal the gloss 
 of a new pair of boots. The same 
 foolish pride made him refuse the 
 most useful articles of dress, if they 
 were a little uncommon. He seemed 
 to imagine that he was an object of 
 universal attention, and was a mere 
 slave to the opinions of others. 
 
 Lucius was soon rendered very 
 
142 LETTERS TO A 
 
 unhappy; for it was not long before 
 the boys discovered his reigning 
 foible. They took pleasure in laugh- 
 ing at his dress, his features, his 
 tones, his walk, and almost every 
 thing which he said or did. Poor 
 Lucius could not keep his counte- 
 nance under their raillery ; and some- 
 times his eyes would fill wdth tears 
 of mortification. This temper grew 
 up with him, and the consequence is, 
 that he is a poor, feeble, undecided, 
 wavering fellow, who i^ afraid to 
 take his course with a manly firm- 
 ness, and must learn the opinion of 
 every one around him, before he 
 ventures upon any proceeding. 
 
 This ridiculous pride, or false 
 shame, is something more than a 
 mere laughable peculiarity. It pro- 
 duces real misery, both to the sub- 
 ject of it and to others. Thus many 
 persons are kept from seeking the 
 favour of God by fear of being ridi- 
 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 143 
 
 culed. In like manner, many neg- 
 lect the duty of professing Christ 
 before men, for the same cause. 
 One young man is ashamed to be- 
 come a Sunday-school teacher; peo- 
 ple will take notice of it, and he will 
 DO laughed at ! Another young man 
 is afraid to own that he has religious 
 feelings, or to say a word to his un- 
 godly companions, lest they should 
 scoff at him. Thus God is disho- 
 noured, and souls are lost. 
 
 Read the histories of great men, 
 and you will see how diiferent were 
 their feelings. If Howard had re- 
 garded those who used to call him 
 ''Mad Jack Howard," we never 
 should have heard of his benevolent 
 deeds. Or to go further back, if Co- 
 lumhus had been afraid of ridicule, 
 America might not have been disco- 
 vered. 
 
 Cultivate the habit of doing what 
 is right, come what will. Be firm, 
 
144 LETTERS TO A 
 
 be manly; have right opinions, and 
 hold them fast. The dread of idle 
 laughter is the meanest sort of cow- 
 ardice. Begin at once to overcome 
 it. Especially in matters of duty 
 and religion, beware how you suffer 
 the fear of man to ensnare you. I 
 have known young men who would 
 rather be detected in lying or swear- 
 ing, than let it be known that they 
 had retired for private devotion. And 
 I have seen boys who would shut 
 their Bible in the twinkling of an 
 eye, and pretend to be doing some- 
 thing else, if any one came into the 
 room where they were reading. How 
 mean, how foolish, how wicked, is 
 such a temper ! Scorn to be guilty 
 of this baseness of mind. A proper 
 regard for the opinion of others is 
 surely desirable; but as a rational, 
 an accountable, an immortal being, 
 do not suffer yourself to be in servi- 
 tude to other minds: above all, do 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 145 
 
 not submit to the paltry laughter of 
 those who are perhaps far inferior in 
 judgment to yourself 
 
 I repeat it, then, begin at once to 
 conquer this failing, if you are con- 
 scious of it in any degree. Do what 
 you believe to be right, in all cases ; 
 do it at once, and at all risks. Suppose 
 idle, foolish, or wicked persons laugh 
 at you. What then? Does their 
 laughter injure you? Or will their 
 good opinion repay you for the loss 
 of a good conscience? Is not the 
 praise of God better than the praise 
 of man? You may depend upon it 
 as an undoubted truth, that the very 
 way to avoid mortification is, to de- 
 spise ignorant ridicule ; and the very 
 way to be constantly on the rack of 
 confusion and injured vanity is, to 
 yield to the scoffings of the unwise. 
 And in the things of religion, to be 
 governed by fear of shame is not 
 only foolish, but impious. It is no- 
 
 13 
 
146 LETTERS TO A 
 
 thing less than preferring man to 
 God! Remember the words of 
 Christ: " Whosoever shall he ashamed 
 of me and of my words, of him shall 
 the Son of man he ashamed, when he 
 shall come in his own glory, and in 
 his Father's, and of the holy angels'''' 
 Luke ix. 26. Farewell. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 147 
 
 LETTER XVIII. 
 
 EVIL SPEAKING. 
 
 My dear brother, — The sins of the 
 tongue are, perhaps, more numerous 
 than all our other outward offences. 
 And faults of this kind are very com- 
 mon in young persons. It is not 
 usual to find a youth who is not fond 
 of talking, and where there is much 
 talking, as I have said to you before, 
 there is commonly much sin. Very 
 few boys or girls feel the importance 
 of keeping a strict watch over their 
 lips : and hence, much of their time 
 is taken up in idle, unprofitable, and 
 wicked conversation. 
 
 I hope I need not say a word 
 more to you about wilful lying, pro- 
 fan eness, or slander. These you 
 have been taught to abhor. But 
 there are vices, allied to these, and 
 
148 LETTERS TO A 
 
 partaking of their character, into 
 which young persons are very apt to 
 fall. Their wickedness is not so 
 open and glaring, and therefore they 
 are committed without compunc- 
 tion. 
 
 When )^oung people are talking 
 together, in high spirits, nothing is 
 more natural than for them to con- 
 verse about their neighbours and 
 acquaintances ; and they are as likely 
 to speak of the faults, as the excellen- 
 cies of these persons. In this way, 
 the habit is formed of remarking 
 too freely on personal character, and 
 thas many, before they suspect 
 themselves, fall into the vice of slan- 
 der. Even when you know of an 
 offence committed by another, it is 
 right to say nothing of it, except\^ 
 where silence would plainly be a sin. 
 '' He that covereth a transgression 
 seeketh love." Prov. xvii. 9. Cha- 
 rity, or true Christian love rejoiceth 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 149 
 
 not in iniquity — belie veth all things 
 — hopeth all things. 
 
 In general, the less you talk about 
 absent persons the better. Espe- 
 cially, the less you speak of their 
 faults, the better. Some boys are in 
 a hurry to repeat every thing they 
 hear about the misdeeds of their 
 acquaintances. This shows a low 
 and depraved temper. We may 
 slander, even by speaking the truth ; 
 and if we loved our neighbour as 
 ourselves, we should conceal his 
 frailties, just as we always try to 
 conceal our own. The character of 
 a slanderer is justly abhorred. Try 
 to avoid even the appearance of 
 being such. The Scriptures de- 
 scribe the good man as one ''that 
 backbite th not with his tongue."' 
 Ps. XV. 3. And they class together 
 "backbiters, and haters of God." 
 Rom. i. 30. In order to keep clear 
 of this vice, beware of tale-hearing. 
 
150 LETTERS TO A 
 
 There are some things, indeed, which 
 your duty as a son or a pupil will 
 constrain you to make known ; and 
 this ought not to be called tale-bear- 
 ing, but faithfulness. 
 
 What I mean to guard you against 
 is, the disposition to tattle about 
 every fault or misdemeanour of your 
 pla3^mates or friends. So far as it 
 is practicable or lawful, be the last 
 to carry the bad tidings of a trans- 
 gression. Be careful not to say any 
 thing about others, which you would 
 not be willing they should hear, or 
 which you would not be willing they 
 shall say of you. 
 
 Harsh and reviling language used 
 towards others is a kind of slander. 
 It injures the feelings and the cha- 
 racter of those to whom it is address- 
 ed. And it is, perhaps, more com- 
 mon among boys than among men; 
 for as persons grow up to years of 
 maturity, they learn the imprudence 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 151 
 
 and the danger of abusing their 
 neighbours with violent words. " Re- 
 vilers," we are told, '' shall not in- 
 herit the kingdom of God." I Cor. 
 Ti. 10. 
 
 A very common sort of indirect 
 slander is the ridicule often be- 
 stowed by the young upon the foibles 
 of their acquaintance. You often 
 hear boys laughing at the peculiari- 
 ties of some unfortunate youth, and 
 amusing themselves with his looks, 
 his walk, his pronunciation, or his 
 dress. Where there is a talent for 
 mimicry, this disposition is still more 
 encouraged. Young persons are fond 
 of ''taking oif" every thing ridicu- 
 lous in their playmates. Very few 
 persons seem to regard this as wrong; 
 but a little consideration will con- 
 vince you that it is so ; for we always 
 think less of any one who is thus 
 held up in a ludicrous point of view ; 
 and this is the very eifect produced 
 
162 LETTERS TO A 
 
 by slander. The offence becomes a 
 crime when the ridicule is aimed 
 at the natural defects or misfortunes 
 of others. None but the most hard- 
 hearted will sport with the infirmi- 
 ties of the aged, the blind, the 
 crippled, or the poor. And I would 
 advise you to shun the company of 
 any boy who is in the habit of laugh- 
 ing at, or mimicking the natural and 
 unavoidable peculiarities of those 
 around him. 
 
 Take care, my dear brother, how 
 you censure the faults of any. Per 
 haps you are guilty of the very same. 
 Or, if not, perhaps the report you 
 have heard is untrue. Or, even if it 
 is true, there may be palliating cir- 
 cumstances of which you are igno 
 rant. Or, even at the worst, if it 
 should be all that you might imagine, 
 it can do no good to remark upon it, 
 and you may be inflicting an injury 
 which you can never repair. There 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 153 
 
 s scarcely any thing so dear to man 
 as reputation ; and when this is once 
 stained by calumny, it is exceed- 
 ingly hard, and often impossible, to 
 remove the spot. 
 
 You are now forming habits for 
 life. I pray you, avoid this habit 
 of evil-speaking. It is one of the 
 most common sins of mankind, and 
 therefore I am the more earnest that 
 you should escape it. Do not even 
 listen to slander. Let all around 
 you know, that it gives you no plea- 
 sure to hear your fellow creatures 
 traduced. 
 
 Last of all ; the surest method of 
 avoiding habits of evil-speaking, is 
 to maintain sincere love for all your 
 fellow-creatures. We never will- 
 ingly injure those we sincerely love. 
 We never speak bitterly and slan- 
 derously of our own dear relations. 
 And so far as we have true charity 
 
154 LETTERS TO A 
 
 for all mankind, we shall avoid the 
 very appearance of calumny. 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 BENEVOLENCE. 
 
 My dear brother, — If I were to 
 send you ten dollars to spend as you 
 choose, after you had purchased such 
 things as you need, what would you 
 do with the remainder ? I am sure 
 you would take much more pleasure 
 in giving it to some poor, starving 
 family, than in laying it out upon 
 toys and eatables. The satisfaction 
 would last much longer. When the 
 miserable sufferers thanked you, it 
 would give you delight; your own 
 conscience would tell you that you 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 155 
 
 had done right ; and whenever you 
 thought of it afterwards, it would be 
 with pleasure. But besides all this, 
 there is satisfaction in the very act 
 of doing good. There is something 
 delightful in the very feeling of love. 
 I wish you to think a little about 
 this. The feeling of which I have 
 just written is called benevolence, or 
 good-will. It is the disposition to 
 do good — to make others happy. It 
 is what the Bible calls charity. And 
 it always gives pleasure, for we can- 
 not love any one sincerely without 
 feeling a degree of happiness for the 
 moment. Just think of the times 
 when you have felt most affectionate 
 towards your dear parents. Was it 
 not a delightful feeling? And when 
 a kind mother presses her infant to 
 her bosom, does she not enjoy more 
 than if some one did a favour to her- 
 self ? It is always so. And, there- 
 lore, the more benevolent you are^ 
 
156 LETTERS TO A 
 
 the more happiness you will have. 
 If you wish to be peaceful in your 
 mind, do as much good as you can. 
 
 This is a great part of true reli- 
 gion. Tliou slialt love thy neighbour 
 as thyself. And wherever this love 
 or benevolence is in any one's heart, 
 it will make him do good. He will 
 try to be useful, and to make every 
 one happy around him. Religion 
 begins in the heart, but it does not 
 end there. It leads persons to act. 
 People may talk about religion, and 
 tell how many good feelings they 
 have ; but if they never do good, if 
 the5^ are not active, there is reason 
 to fear that they have no religion at 
 all. And therefore the Scripture 
 always makes this a mark of true 
 piety. The apostle James says, 
 " Pure religion and undefiled before 
 God and the Father is this : to visit 
 the fatherless and the rvidows in their 
 affltctiony and to keep himself ug- 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 157 
 
 spotted from the world." Is it not 
 a contradiction to speak of a pious 
 man who does no good ? You see at 
 once that it is. An idle Christian is 
 no true Christian. We are all sent 
 into the w^orld to honour God, and 
 we do this whenever we perform 
 what is good. 
 
 Young persons ought to begin as 
 soon as possible to put this in prac- 
 tice. There is such a thing as learn- 
 ing to do good, and forming a habit 
 of doing good; and we cannot begin 
 too soon. Perhaps you will say that 
 you do not know where to begin. I 
 will tell you. Begin with the very 
 next person you meet; with those 
 who are around you now ; with your 
 relatives and your companions. Try 
 to make every one happy to the ut- 
 most of your power. Avoid every 
 thing, in your actions, your words, 
 and your very looks, which could 
 give unnecessary pain. Keep this 
 14 
 
158 LETTERS TO A 
 
 Tip at all times. Thus you will con- 
 stantly be cherishing a benevolent 
 temper. If you are kind and affec- 
 tionate in small matters^ I am sure 
 you will be so in those which are 
 more important. There is an old 
 saying about money matters which 
 you may have heard : Take care of 
 the pence, and the 'pounds will take 
 itare of themselves. The meaning of 
 this is, that people lose more by 
 neglecting small sums of money, 
 than by losing larger ones. Almost 
 any man will take care of a hundred 
 dollar note. He will carry it in 
 his pocket-book for months, without 
 losing it. But during the same time, 
 he will perhaps squander away as 
 much by little and little. If he had 
 taken good care of these small sums, 
 he might have saved a good deal. 
 So it is with respect to benevolence. 
 Almost any man will be benevolent 
 when there is any dreadful suffering 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 159 
 
 which he can reheve, or any great 
 act of charity which he can do. 
 But perhaps this very same man 
 will all the time be unkind and 
 pettish to his family, and will make 
 every one near him feel unpleasantly. 
 But if you begin v^ith these little 
 things, which are occurring every 
 day and every hour, you will pre- 
 serve a benevolent disposition the 
 whole time, and will be more ready 
 to do some greater act of charity 
 when it is called for. 
 
 There have been some men so 
 benevolent, that they have spent 
 almost all their lives in trying to 
 relieve the distressed. One of the 
 most remarkable of these was How- 
 ard, who for this reason is usually 
 called the phiIa?ithropist, that is, the 
 " lover of mankind." John Howard 
 was born at Clayton, in England, in 
 the year 1727. His father left him 
 a large estate, but his health was so 
 
160 LETTERS TO A 
 
 infirm, during his youth, that he did 
 not engage in much active business. 
 He was a man of a kind and tender 
 heart, and was always seeking to do 
 good. When the dreadful earth- 
 quake took place which overwhelm- 
 ed the city of Lisbon, he was so 
 touched with pity that he undertook 
 a voyage to Portugal, in 1755, to see 
 if he could give any relief to the in- 
 habitants. But he was taken by a 
 French ship, and carried into Brest, 
 where he remained some months as 
 a prisoner. Here he began to learn 
 how many distresses were suffered 
 by those who are confined in jails, 
 and his benevolent spirit longed to 
 relieve them. When he returned to 
 England, he made man)^ inquiries 
 on this subject, and began to examin 
 all the prisons in England, in order 
 to reform them. He wrote books 
 about this, and procured new laws 
 to be passed by the parliament. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 161 
 
 But Howard was not contented 
 with lessening the sufferings of pri- 
 soners in England. He knew that 
 their case was worse in other coun- 
 tries, and he determined to visit the 
 continent of Europe. In this work 
 he spent twelve years. Between 
 1775 and 1787 he went four times to 
 Germany, five times to Holland, 
 twice to Italy, besides visiting Spain, ^ 
 Portugal, Turkey, and the north of 
 Europe. He often travelled night 
 and day, visiting all the principal 
 hospitals and prisons. He did not 
 regard expense or danger, for his 
 whole soul was taken up with the 
 desire to do good. At Valladolid, in 
 Spain, he became a prisoner him- 
 self, for a month, in order to know 
 the real truth. And when he re- 
 turned home, he published a large 
 work, in which he gave an account 
 of what he had seen. And in this • 
 
 14* 
 
162 LETTERS TO A 
 
 way he did more than was ever done 
 before, to render the condition of 
 prisoners less miserable. 
 
 But his benevolent heart was not 
 satisfied with this. The plague was 
 raging in many parts of Europe. 
 This dreadful complaint is worse 
 than the yellow fever, and often 
 destroyed thousands in a few weeks. 
 Howard resolved to learn all about 
 it, and find out how it might be 
 cured. He had studied medicine in 
 his youth, and he travelled, as a phy- 
 sician, through various countries. 
 In 1785 he went to Marseilles. Then 
 ae visited the hospitals in Italy and 
 Turkey, exposing himself to the 
 greatest dangers. Whenever it was 
 possible, he gave relief. In 1789 
 iie published another work, giving 
 an account of the plague. The same 
 year he set out upon another journey 
 to the eastern countries, but was 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 163 
 
 seized with a fever in the Crimea, 
 and died in 1790. 
 
 Now, is not this a noble example ? 
 How much more does Howard de- 
 serve the name of a great man than 
 Alexander, Cesar, or Bonaparte! I 
 wish you to think of these things, 
 and earnestly to pray that you may 
 be disposed to imitate such a course 
 of life. 
 
 Your aifectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
164 LETTERS TO A 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 SECRET PRAYER. 
 
 My dear brother, — The STibject 
 about which I intend now to address 
 you is so important, tiiat I might 
 write many letters upon it. It is 
 that of secret prayer. I trust that 
 you suffer no day to pass, in which 
 you do not pray to God in some 
 secret place. 
 
 We are nowhere taught in the 
 Bible how often we ought to pray. 
 It is indeed said that we must pray 
 without ceasing, that is, that we 
 should all the time be in a fit state 
 of mind for prayer; also that we 
 should habitually observe regular 
 seasons for prayer, and besides, that 
 we should very often offer uj> pe- 
 titions in our minds, while we are 
 about our common cmploym^pt-s 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 165 
 
 Almost all Christians have agreed 
 that it is proper to pray to God every 
 morning and every evening. There 
 is a great advantage in having a set 
 time for secret prayer. You have 
 often heard it said, that what is left to 
 he done at any time, is ccymmonly done 
 at no time. This is true. If you rise 
 in the morning, and put off your devo- 
 tions until you feel more in the spirit 
 for them, it is likely that you will be 
 less and less in the right temper. 
 When you become hurried with your 
 studies, your work, or your play, you 
 will be less disposed to pray than 
 when you first arose. Besides, if you 
 have a fixed hour for your private 
 devotions, whenever the hour comes, 
 you will be put in mind of your duty. 
 You know that in a family where the 
 meals are served up at regular hours, 
 every one is reminded of breakfast or 
 dinner w^henever the hour arrives. 
 In a late letter, I spoke to you of 
 
166 LETTERS TO A 
 
 the importance of forming proper 
 habits. Now it is one great use of 
 having a stated hour for prayer, that 
 you thus acquire the habit of going 
 into your closet for devotion at a cer- 
 tain time. I remember that I used 
 to have a particular hour for taking a 
 walk in the morning. This became 
 quite a habit with me. Whenever 
 the hour came, I always set out upon 
 my walk, and I used to feel quite 
 unpleasantly when any thing hap- 
 pened to prevent it. So it will be 
 if you set a time every morning and 
 evening for being alone to pray. 
 
 It is good also to have a particular 
 place, where this is possible. If we 
 go into a room where we have always 
 been accustomed to play and be 
 merry, it will make us think of these 
 things, and w^e shall be cheerful. If 
 we go into a room where we have 
 seen a person die, it will make us very 
 solemn. What is the reason of this'i' 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 167 
 
 It is because one thing brings the 
 other into our mind. It is called by 
 philosophers the association of ideas. 
 On this account, almost every one 
 feels solemn on going into a house 
 of worship. And in the same way, 
 if you have a particular place where 
 you go to read the Scriptures and 
 pray, you will feel serious whenevei 
 j^ou go into it. If it is only a par- 
 ticular corner of your chamber, it 
 will answer a good purpose. 
 
 The best time for prayer is early 
 in the morning. As soon as you 
 have washed and dressed yourself, 
 you should go by yourself and en 
 gage in devotion. At this hour the 
 mind is fresh and cheerful, and we 
 should give the best hours to God 
 You are then free from interruptions, 
 and the bustle and hurry of the day 
 have not yet begun. You will natu 
 rally be led to think of the goodness 
 of God in preserving you through all 
 
168 LETTERS TO A. 
 
 the dangers of the night, and it will 
 be highly proper for you to ask his 
 blessing upon the whole day. 
 
 The proper time for eA'ening prayer 
 is when the business of the day is 
 generally over. But you must not 
 "fix on too late an hour, for in that 
 case you will often be heav)^ and 
 drowsy, and will hurry through the 
 duty, or perform it in a careless man- 
 ner. Some thoughtless boys put off 
 their prayers imtil they have got into 
 bed, and then they pretend to repeat 
 something in the way of devotion. 
 They are afraid to neglect the duty 
 entirely, but they go about it in so 
 slothful a w^ay, that they often fall 
 asleep before they are through their 
 prayers. This is a wicked practice. 
 It is a temptation by w^hich Satan 
 leads many young persons to leave 
 off secret prayer altogether. At pub- 
 lic schools, where several boys lodge 
 in the same room, they are often 
 
YOUNGER BROTI^ER. 169 
 
 tempted to this neglect. They are 
 ashamed to let their playmates see 
 that they serve God; and this is a 
 dreadful sin. In such a case, it would 
 be a good plan to take an hour before 
 bed-time, in which you could retire 
 to some private place. 
 
 Remember that the great thing in 
 prayer is to have the heart right. 
 The words which you utter with 
 your lips are of less importance. You 
 might say over the best prayer that 
 ever was written, and yet if your 
 heart was not in it, you would only 
 be mocking God. Praying is asking. 
 It is asking for what you desire. 
 Now if there is no desire, there is no 
 prayer. If you ask God for things 
 which you do not wish to receive, 
 you are trifling with him, and this is 
 most displeasing to him. Remem- 
 ber also that prayer is heard only for 
 the sake of the Lord Jesus Christ. 
 Therefore, when you pray, you must 
 15 
 
170 LETTERS TO A 
 
 have faith in him, or. your prayers 
 will not be acceptable. Whenever 
 you kneel down to pray, think what 
 a solemn thing it is that you are about 
 to do. You are going to speak to 
 Almighty God ! O, my dear brother, 
 think of this, and you will no longer 
 hurry through your prayers, as if 
 they were some idle tale. Remem- 
 ber the old saying, which is most 
 true : Praying will make us leave off 
 sinning ^ or sinning rvill mahe us leave 
 off praying. 
 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 17. 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 THE GREAT CONCERN. 
 
 My dear brother, — There are many 
 things to which it is right for you to 
 attend, but there is one thing which 
 is important above all others. It is 
 the salvation of your soul. Learning 
 is good, but if you should get all the 
 learning possible, it would only make 
 you miserable, if you were cast into 
 hell. And so it is with every thing 
 else. If, through the blessing of 
 God, you finally get to heaven, it 
 will be infinitely well with you, even 
 if you have been poor and despised, 
 wretched and ignorant. 
 
 You know I do not wish you to 
 neglect your learning, but I am very 
 much afraid you will neglect eternal 
 things. This is the true learning. 
 
172 LETTERS TO A 
 
 this is eternal life, to know the only 
 true God, and Jesus Christ whom he 
 nath sent. This is what the Bible 
 calls wisdom. A man may be very 
 learned in worldly things and yet be 
 very foolish. What can be more 
 foolish than to give away eternal joys 
 to gain a few years of pleasure? 
 This is what many worldly-wise 
 men are doing. The fear of the 
 Lord is the beginning of wisdom. A 
 child who is taught of God knows 
 more about divine things than So- 
 crates did. 
 
 I am afraid, my dear brother, that 
 you do not think of this as much as 
 you should. I fear that you push 
 away the thought, even when it 
 comes into your mind. This is very 
 dangerous. You may thus harden 
 your heart till it becomes altogether 
 unfeeling. When you turn away 
 your thoughts from religion, you are 
 turning away from God and from 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 173 
 
 Christ. If the Lord Jesus Christ 
 were to come into the house where 
 you Kve, and show himself to you, 
 just as he did to his disciples at the 
 sea of Tiberias, (John xxi.J and say 
 to you, Follow thou me, what would 
 you do? 
 
 Perhaps 5^ou would say, "I cannot 
 follow Christ now, because I am too 
 young." Many boys say so in their 
 hearts. Christ says to them, Follow 
 me, just as really as if he were to 
 come into your school-room, and take 
 you by the hand, and utter these 
 words. Perhaps you would say, "I 
 cannot follow Christ now, because 
 the boys would laugh at me." Ah, 
 how wicked, how ungrateful is this ! 
 The wicked may indeed laugh at 
 you if you follow Jesus. So they 
 laughed at the disciples in old times. 
 Do you think that the early Chris- 
 tians were free from ridicule? Not 
 15* 
 
174 LETTERS TO A 
 
 at all. They were mocked and 
 scorned wherever they went; and 
 not merely mocked and scorned, 
 they were pursued, imprisoned, and 
 put to death. You cannot follow 
 Christ unless you are willing to suf- 
 fer for his sake. Are you afraid of 
 the laughter of silly boys and wicked 
 men? Think of the blessed Re- 
 deemer. He was not afraid of this, 
 but underwent it, and a thousand 
 times more, to save sinners. People 
 laughed at him. They ridiculed him 
 as the carjp enter'' s son. They said he 
 was a Samaritan, which was a name 
 of reproach among the Jews. They 
 said he was mad. They charged 
 him with having a devil Even 
 when he was working miracles, tlieij 
 laughed him to scorn. Yes, and 
 when he was hanging on the cross, 
 in an agony, at the point of death, 
 they wagged their heads at him, and 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 175 
 
 made sport of his blood and suffering. 
 Think of this. This is what Jesus 
 has done for us. And now he says, 
 Follow me. He seems to show you 
 his pierced hands and feet, and to 
 sa)^, ''My child, I have borne all this 
 for sinners, and now all I ask is, that 
 you should follow me." 
 
 It is your duty, my dear brother, 
 to give your heart to God now; to 
 believe now. There is no good rea- 
 son for waiting. All the reasons 
 which come into your mind to make 
 you delay, are wicked, selfish, rebel- 
 lious excuses. Now is the accepted 
 time. To-morrow it will be as hard 
 to believe in Christ as it is to-day ; 
 perhaps much harder, because, as I 
 said, the heart becomes insensible 
 when persons continue to resist the 
 Holy Spirit. 
 
 I pray that God would send his 
 Holy Spirit down from heaven, to 
 
176 LETTERS TO A 
 
 create a clean heart in you, and to 
 renew you. Your carnal heart is 
 enmity against God, and this is the 
 reason why it is not subject to the 
 law of God. Carnal hearts cannot 
 be subject to the law. And though 
 Christ is every day inviting you, yet 
 you will not come unto him, that 
 you may have life. If you grow up 
 in this state of blindness and impeni- 
 tence, there is reason to fear that you 
 will become so much the servant of 
 sin, that the evil one will lead you 
 into some open crime. There is a 
 blessed hope of everlasting life given 
 to true believers, and this is what I 
 wish you to enjoy. Perhaps you 
 may not live to be a man. Death 
 sometimes approaches very suddenly. 
 You saw the grave of a little boy not 
 long ago. He was as healthy, a few 
 weeks before his death, as you now 
 are. He had no thought that he was 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 177 
 
 about to die, and now he is in eter- 
 nity! 
 
 Come now, my dear brother, and 
 join with me and your Christian 
 friends in seeking the Lord and call- 
 ing upon him. ''Seek the Lord 
 while he may be found, call upon 
 him while he is near." Make this 
 the chief business of every day, to 
 please God. When you rise in the 
 morning, let your first thought be 
 that you have a soul to save. All 
 the day long, let the salvation of 
 your soul be your principal concern. 
 Other things may wait, without any 
 danger. Your plays and recreations 
 may wait; for if you live, you can 
 attend to them as well hereafter. 
 Your studies may wait, for a few 
 days lost may be regained by dili- 
 gence. But the souVs concerns can- 
 not wait. While you are waiting, 
 death is coming. Death is nearer to 
 you than when you began to read 
 
 
178 LETTERS TO A 
 
 this letter. While you are putting 
 off religion until another day, you 
 are so much nearer to the day of 
 judgment. You are loitering and 
 lingering; but time does not linger. 
 And before the day comes on which 
 you mean to begin to seek the liord's 
 face, your soul may be tormented. 
 O, my dear brother, attend speedily 
 to these warnings. All will be well 
 with you as soon as you are per- 
 suaded to follow Christ. Make choice 
 of him — look to him — come to him — 
 receive him — believe on him — and 
 you will at once have the privilege 
 of being one of the sons of God.* 
 
 Go to some quiet, private place, 
 and tell the Lord in prayer, how 
 great a sinner you have been, and 
 mourn over your sin, and cry, " God 
 be merciful to me a sinner!" For 
 
 *Isa. xlv. 22. John i. 12; iii. 16. 18. 36* Acta 
 xvi. 31. Mact. xi. 28. John vi. 35. 
 
YOUNGER BROTHER. 179 
 
 "if tliou shalt seek the Lord thy 
 God, thou shalt find him; if thou 
 seek him with all thy heart, and with 
 all thy soul." Deut. iv. 29. May 
 God abundantly bless you! 
 Your affectionate brother, 
 
 James 
 
 THE END. 
 

 
 
 y i>y^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^^^> 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 ^^ --^r 
 
 ^»j> 
 
 
 3> ::> 
 
 
 J yj 
 
 ^ ^ 
 
 
 ^e>^ 
 
 3^S 
 
 1 . ^^- 
 
 
 
 
 
 y^ ^ 
 
 ^3> ^ 
 
 
 S^ 
 
 ~^!S 
 
 >> 
 
 
 )> 
 
 _^ 
 
 y^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 i'y^ 
 
 
 %'-> 
 
 ':^;^Qt^-^l^2> 
 
cr^c d 
 
 cj c 
 
 
 
 
 1 c<^^ <_c>^^ 
 
 c c e ^ 
 
 ^^ w 
 
 
 
 
 ycic. 
 
 c 'c c- 
 
 
 
 "~^-x<^^ <^' ^^. 
 
 
 CX:-^ <^