Earlier text: GRANDMOTHER’S ROOM.MATTIE, come down and see what a queer-looking object is coming up the road!” “Where, George, where?” echoed a chorus of voices as their owners rushed pell-mell to the open window and protruded their several heads therefrom, while eager eyes scanned the road in search of the curious object to which George had called his sister’s attention. “Why, there, up the road; wait a moment; she’s gone down in the hollow; you’ll see her directly coming over the brow of that hill there, right opposite father’s meadow.” “Is it a person, George?” inquired Mattie, turning her bright, blue eyes in the direction indicated. “Why, yes, it is a woman to be sure, but the funniest one it was ever my fortune to see. There, there she comes, the very queen of witches.” All eyes were fastened upon the figure which now appeared in sight, and proved to82 be a woman apparently well advanced in years, if one might judge by the bent form and slow, cautious step with which she advanced. The dark gray cloak in which she was enveloped seemed to be of some ancient style and designed for extremely cold climates, since it consisted of numerous capes, each surmounting the other, the whole combination imparting to the wearer a very bunchy appearance, which, to say the least, was exceedingly grotesque. Her bonnet was of huge dimensions, such as were worn years ago by our grandmothers. In one hand she carried a cotton umbrella, though the day was exceedingly fine; while in the other she held what appeared to be a box or large square parcel, securely covered with a newspaper. On one arm hung an old-fashioned reticule filled to its utmost capacity. As she arrived opposite the house she paused, and carefully depositing her large package on the ground, glanced uneasily up and down the road as if uncertain which way to proceed. From some receptacle beneath the huge proportions of her cloak she drew forth a palm-leaf fan and proceeded to avail herself of its cooling properties, thereby proving herself83 provided with comforts peculiar to either cold or warm weather. The little group at the windows watched her with considerable interest. “Poor creature,” said Mattie, “I dare say she is tired; I am sure she has walked a great way to-day.” “Then why don’t she sit down on that great box and rest a while?” responded George. “Perhaps she can’t—may be it’s a band-box.” “Sure enough, that’s a wise suggestion. I’ve no doubt that’s just the truth of the matter; no woman ever travels without a band-box, even if she does go on foot. How is this—why, if the funny old creature isn’t coming here!” And sure enough she had again taken up her baggage, and to their utter amazement was slowly walking down the lane leading to the house. “She has probably lost her way and is coming to inquire about the roads,” suggested George. “That can’t be,” said Walter Jones, one of George’s playmates, who had been an amused spectator of the old lady’s proceedings.84 “While you were discussing the band-box question farmer Colby passed by, and the old woman stopped him and seemed to be inquiring about some one. He listened a moment, and then pointed over here, and she started at once in this direction. I congratulate you, George, on your new acquaintance, possibly some maiden aunt from the backwoods, of whose existence you have never been informed.” Having delivered this speech he laughed so tauntingly that George colored deeply as he replied with spirit:— “We haven’t got any such relations, Walter Jones; our connections are all people of respectability.” “George Gray—come, now, that’s rich, can’t an odd-looking little old woman be respectable?” “Have a care what you say, sir; I don’t know anything about her or any other backwoods people.” “Nobody said you did, that I am aware of.” “Pshaw, George, what’s the use of quarreling about a poor old woman, just because she looks funny?” said Mattie. “I’m going85 down to see what she wants.” And with a light step she bounded down the stairs. “Come on, George,” said Walter, “we won’t quarrel about her; let us go down, too, and see what she looks like on closer inspection.” They arrived in the hall just in time to see Mrs. Gray seize the old lady’s hands in hers as with an expression of pleasure she drew her into the cozy family sitting-room and closed the door. “There,” exclaimed Walter, triumphantly, “didn’t I tell you it was your aunt come to see you! Come, now, why don’t you go in and welcome her to Greyside Villa?” “Nonsense, Walter Jones, I tell you she is no relation of mine.” “Ah! how do you know that? I’m sure she was very cordially welcomed by your mother.” “My mother is always very kind to every one. If the old lady called on any charitable mission for others, or was in want of assistance herself, my mother would treat her well.” “But does she take every beggar or peddler by both hands and express delight at seeing86 them? Does she lead them into her pleasant sitting-room in that agreeable style? If she does, I wonder that Greyside Villa is not daily besieged by objects of charity from all parts of the country.” The discussion was here cut short by the appearance of Mrs. Grey in the hall, accompanied by her strange visitor. They proceeded up stairs together, and had scarcely reached the landing above, when Walter gave vent to a shout of laughter, exclaiming, “What an acquisition to Greyside Villa! Three cheers for the queen of witches!” George was evidently annoyed, but made no reply to the rude speech. Mattie was ready to cry with vexation as Walter, with a boy’s love of teasing, turned to her saying, “She has come to stay a week, Mattie, at all events, perhaps longer. I’m going home to send mother over to call on her. I’m sure she’d be delighted to make her acquaintance and learn how affairs are progressing in the backwoods.” So saying, he strode away, whistling a favorite air. After a little while Mrs. Grey came down alone and called George and Mattie into the sitting-room. “My children,” said she, “I87 was grieved to hear you speak so disrespectfully of any aged person as you did of the old lady who is now my guest.” “Why, mother,” said George, “we didn’t know she was coming here; and if I did call her the queen of witches, I didn’t mean any disrespect to her really. I’m sure, mother, you must admit she’s very odd-looking, but do tell us, who is she?” “It was Walter Jones that laughed so loud, mother,” put in Mattie, with the evident desire of clearing her brother. “Yes, mother, he said she was my aunt from the backwoods, and made all manner of sport of what he chose to call my new relation.” “And mother,” exclaimed Mattie, “he said he was going home to send his mother over to call on her, and you know they are such awful proud people,” and Mattie looked exceedingly grave, as she delivered this important piece of news. “I would be glad to see my children pay due respect to age, no matter what the surrounding circumstances may be. Appearances are often deceitful, and the roughest exterior frequently conceals the warmest88 heart and most loveable character. Sit down by me here in the twilight, and I will tell you something of the history of the old lady in question while she is resting up stairs. Left an orphan at an early age she was taken to the home of an uncle who soon became weary of the charge, and proved unfaithful to his trust. She was treated very unkindly and made to feel her dependence in every possible way. She never had the pleasure of looking back upon the joys of childhood, since to her there was nothing but trouble and care. Her married life was for a time a happy period, but even this path was not devoid of thorns. Her husband was killed by a steamboat accident while on his way home from a distant city, and she was not even able to recover his remains. She was left alone with the care of three small children, two of whom fell victims to an epidemic which was prevalent at that time. The eldest, a son, was spared, and no mother was ever blessed with a nobler boy than Willie Cramer. But the time came when even this was to be taken from her. You remember, my son, the terrible times through which we passed a few years ago,89 when our country was in danger, and the true, loyal hearts of her brave sons interposed themselves between her and ruin. Regiment after regiment went forward, and still the call came for more men. Brave, true-hearted Willie Cramer went about his daily duties with downcast looks; he seldom spoke of the war, yet was always eager for the latest news. One evening as Mrs. Cramer passed his room, the door of which was slightly ajar, she heard him praying, and stood riveted to the spot as his words fell upon her ears. He was asking God to direct him in the matter which pressed so heavily upon his heart; he prayed that if it was right for him to go forth in defense of his country, that God would put it into the heart of his mother to consent to his going. Mrs. Cramer pondered over the subject a long time, and wept and prayed, and finally called her son to her side, and frankly asked him if he really wished to leave her for his country’s sake. “Mother,” said he, “if I could go with your free consent, if I could feel that you willingly gave me to our country’s cause, with your blessing upon my head, I would90 gladly go, but without this I cannot leave you.” “It was a terrible struggle for Mrs. Cramer. At last self was subdued. One evening as Willie stood on the little rustic porch, listening to the sounds of martial music from the distance, his mother came and stood beside him. Placing her trembling hand upon his head, she said, ‘Willie, my son, go, and God be with you always; your mother’s blessing and prayers shall follow you wherever you are.’ And so Willie Cramer, young, but so noble and brave, joined a company then forming in the neighborhood, and was soon far away fighting the battles of his country. The first year passed. One sad day the news came that the bright, noble boy was with the slain. When Mrs. Cramer rallied from the blow she felt that henceforth life was nothing to her, only as she could use it in the service of others. She accordingly went to the hospital as nurse, and a more faithful, tender one was never known. It was she who so faithfully watched beside your father there, when he lay so long with that terrible fever brought on by exposure. It was she who wrote me every day or two91 to relieve my anxiety when my own illness prevented me from going to him myself. Never, my children, can your father forget how kind she was to him, and how much we owe to her for his restoration to health. After the close of the war she returned to her native place, and has spent her time in doing good. When that epidemic broke out in the city of M., she hastened hither to care for the sick, pray with the dying, and comfort the bereaved. Having occasion to come to our neighborhood on a mission of mercy, she felt a desire to see the dear children of whom your father talked so much during his long illness. The moment her name was announced I hastened to welcome her, glad, indeed, to do honor to one who has done so much for us. And now, bowed down more by toil, care, and trouble than by the weight of years, what though she is odd looking, though she does adhere to the same style of dress, notwithstanding the changes of fashion, does it make her any the less the true-hearted, self-sacrificing woman she has proved herself to be? Can you wonder that I was pained by your ill-timed mirth? Oh! I do trust, my dear children, that in future you will never92 fail to show respect to age, no matter what the surrounding circumstances, and never trust to mere outward appearance as the only credentials of character and standing.” You may be sure George and Mattie were both heartily ashamed of the part they had acted. George colored deeply when the newspaper was removed from the singular-looking package, and it proved to be a cage containing a pair of beautiful birds, a present for himself, which kind Mrs. Cramer had brought, though it must have been a source of discomfort and trouble to herself to carry. The well-filled reticule which had caused such merriment contained a doll for baby Lillian, the household pet, several books, and a workbox all complete for Mattie. Anxious to make amends, they both endeavored to interest the kind old lady in every possible way, notwithstanding the scornful looks of Walter Jones. They never forgot the lesson thus learned, or allowed themselves to be governed by outward appearance. AS THROUGH the pictured pages of fair nature’s book,
With searching eye and thoughtful mind you look,
Or man’s own varied thought, and life, and face you scan,
Ranging his changeful history since time began,
The sage’s vigorous word wins acquiescence due—
“The Beautiful is but the splendor of the True.”
The sheen of flowers, the grace of arching forest trees,
The symmetry of hills, the smile of summer seas,
The spell of music, all the wondrous charms of sound,
Man’s works of mind or hand, where strength or grace
is found—
All things in art or nature, small, great, old or new,
If true are beautiful, if beautiful are true.
False notes in song, false words, falseness in act, or thought, or form,
Whatever violates God’s perfect law must still deform.
Heaven is all beautiful, because no falseness there
Can enter in, its ordered perfectness to mar.
Art o’er its failures, sin its shame, thin veils may draw;
Nought can be beautiful that violates a law.
So let us strive, whatever else we lose or gain,
Whatever works be failures, whatever hopes be vain,
Disdaining futile arts, false colors, false display,
All tinsel brilliancy, attract howe’er it may—
Strive still, in thought and life this maxim to renew,
“The Beautiful is but the splendor of the True.”
EFFECTS OF NOVEL READING.
In the romantic borders of a beautiful river, in one of our Northern States, there is situated an elegant mansion. Spacious grounds surround the dwelling, and, what is not usual in this country, it has a terraced garden. This is a hill, situated at the side of the house, presenting a mass of living verdure. You ascend gradually, step by step, each platform, as it were, richly embroidered with brilliant flowers. In this retreat of elegance and retirement, lived Mr. and Mrs. M., their daughter, and a French governess. No expense or labor had been spared to make this daughter an accomplished woman; but not one thought was ever bestowed upon the immortal interests of her soul. At the age of sixteen, she was beautiful and intelligent, but utterly destitute of all religious principle. Enthusiastically fond of reading, she roamed her father’s spacious library, and selected whatever92B books best pleased her. Of an imaginative turn, earnest and impassioned, hers was the very mind that required the strong, controlling hand of a matured judgment. Yet it was left to feed at will upon the poisoned fruits that lie scattered around. She naturally turned to the novels that stored the library shelves; and at sixteen was as much at home in the pages of Bulwer as she was in her French grammar. The ridiculous romances of Mrs. Radcliffe were laid aside with disgust, and Bulwer, James, and others, took their place. But she descended a step, many steps lower, and, supplied by the governess, eagerly devoured the very worst fictions of Eugene Sue and George Sand. Next she was heard discussing and excusing the most heinous crimes of which human nature can be guilty. Her parents heard with horror her freely expressed sentiments, and wondered where she had inhaled such lax ideas. They never thought of looking into her library for the cause, or at the unprincipled governess. The poison began to do its work; she could no longer live this tame life; she must have something more exciting, more exhilarating.96 The resolution was formed; with a beating heart she collected her mother’s jewels; took one long look at her indulgent parents; bade a silent farewell to the scenes of her happy childhood, and left the house forever. No warning voice implored her to return; no hand was stretched out to save. On, on she went, until she reached the far-off city. Its lights dazzled her, its noise confused her, but she never regretted the peaceful home she had so culpably deserted. Her plan was to go on the stage, and become a renowned actress, like the heroine of one of her French novels. But this was not so easily achieved as she imagined; and after a most unsuccessful attempt, she was compelled to act only in subordinate parts. She had lost home, happiness, and respectability, and had not gained that fame for which she had sacrificed so much. But it would be too painful to follow her through all her wretched life, and tell how each succeeding year she grew more degraded and more miserable, until at length having run a fearful career of vice she sank into a dishonored and early grave. No mother’s hand wiped the cold death-dew from her97 brow; no kind voice whispered hope and consolation. Alone, poor, degraded, utterly unrepentant, she will appear before the judgment seat of Christ; we pause; for we dare not follow it further. The sound of her name never echoed through the halls of her childhood. Her father, stern and silent, buried all memories of his guilty child deep within his heart; whilst the mother, wan, broken-hearted, hopeless, wept in secret those tears of bitter agony whose fountain was perpetually welling afresh. It is “to point a moral” that we have opened these annals of the past; and we would have the young ponder well the lesson that this history teaches. There is a danger in novel reading; it vitiates the taste, enervates the understanding, and destroys all inclination for spiritual enjoyment. The soul that is bound in fetters of this habit, cannot rise to the contemplation of heavenly things. It has neither the inclination nor the power. We knew one, who, even with death in view, turned with loathing away from the only Book that could bring her peace and salvation,98 to feed greedily on the pages of a foolish romance. It matters not that some of the finest minds have given their powers to this style of writing; that bright gems of intellect flash along their pages. The danger is so much the greater; for the jewels scattered by Genius, blind even while they dazzle. “Some of the greatest evils of my life,” said a remarkable woman, “I trace to the eager perusal of what are called ‘well-written novels.’” I lived in a world of delusion. I had no power to separate the false from the real. My Bible lay covered with dust; I had no desire for its pages.” Oh, then, if the young would reach a heavenly haven; if they would be guided unto “the still waters” of everlasting bliss, let them avoid the dangerous rock of novel reading, upon which so many souls have been shipwrecked and utterly lost. “Have you examined that bill, James?”
“Yes, sir.” The lad handed his employer a long bill that had been placed on his desk for examination. “Here is an error in the calculation of ten dollars, which they have made against themselves; and another of ten dollars in the footing.” “Also against themselves?” The merchant smiled in a way that struck the lad as peculiar. “Twenty dollars against themselves,” he remarked in a kind of pleasant surprise.—“Trusty clerks they must have!” “Shall I correct the figures?” asked the lad. “No, let them correct their own mistakes. We don’t examine bills for other people’s benefit,” replied the merchant. “It will be time to rectify those errors when they find them out. All so much gain as it now stands.” The boy’s delicate moral sense was shocked at so unexpected a remark. He was the son of a poor widow, who had given him to understand that to be just was the duty of man. Mr. Carman, the merchant in whose employment he had been for only a few months, was an old friend of his father, and a person in whom he reposed the highest confidence. In fact, James had always looked upon him as a kind of model man; and when Mr. Carman agreed to take him into his store, he felt that great good fortune was in his way. “Let them correct their own mistakes.” These words made a strong impression on the mind of James Lewis. When first spoken by Mr. Carman, and with the meaning then involved, he felt, as we have said, shocked; but as he turned them over again in his thoughts, and connected their utterance with a person who stood so high in his mother’s101 estimation, he began to think that perhaps the thing was fair enough in business. Mr. Carman was hardly the man to do wrong. A few days after James had examined the bill, a clerk from the house by which it had been rendered, called for settlement. The lad, who was present, waited with interest to see whether Mr. Carman would speak of the error. But he made no remark. A check for the amount of the bill was rendered, was filled up, and a receipt taken. “Is that right?” James asked himself this question. His moral sense said no; but the fact that Mr. Carman had so acted, bewildered his mind. “It may be the way in business”—so he thought to himself—“but it don’t look honest. I wouldn’t have believed it of him.” Mr. Carman had a kind of way with him that won the boy’s heart, and naturally tended to make him judge of whatever he might do in a most favorable manner. “I wish he had corrected that error,” he said to himself a great many times when thinking in a pleased way of Mr. Carman, and his own good fortune in having been received into his employment. “It don’t look102 right, but it may be in the way of business.” One day he went to the bank and drew the money for a check. In counting it over he found that the teller had paid him fifty dollars too much, so he went back to the counter and told him of his mistake. The teller thanked him, and he returned to the store with the consciousness in his mind of having done right. “The teller overpaid me by fifty dollars,” he said to Mr. Carman, as he handed him the money. “Indeed,” replied the latter, a light breaking over his countenance; and he hastily counted the bank bills. The light faded as the last bill left his fingers. “There’s no mistake, James.” A tone of disappointment was in his voice. “Oh, I gave him back the fifty dollars. Wasn’t that right?” “You simpleton!” exclaimed Mr. Carman. “Don’t you know that bank mistakes are never corrected? If the teller had paid you fifty dollars short he would not have made it right.” The warm blood mantled the cheek of103 James under this reproof. It is often the case that more shame is felt for a blunder than a crime. In this instance the lad felt a sort of mortification at having done what Mr. Carman was pleased to call a silly thing, and he made up his mind that if they should ever over-pay him a thousand dollars at the bank, he should bring the amount to his employer, and let him do as he pleased with the money. “Let people look after their own mistakes,” said Mr. Carman. James Lewis pondered these things in his heart. The impression they made was too strong ever to be forgotten. “It may be right,” he said, but he did not feel altogether satisfied. A month or two after the occurrence of that bad mistake, as James counted over his weekly wages, just received from Mr. Carman, he discovered that he was paid half a dollar too much. The first impulse of his mind was to return the half-dollar to his employer, and it was on his lips to say, “You have given me half a dollar too much, sir,” when the unforgotten words, “Let people look after their104 own mistakes,” flashing upon his thoughts, made him hesitate. To hold a parley with evil is to be overcome. “I must think about this,” said James, as he put the money in his pocket. “If it is true in one case, it is true in another. Mr. Carman don’t correct mistakes that people make in his favor, and he can’t complain when the rule works against himself.” But the boy was very far from being in a comfortable state. He felt that to keep half a dollar would be a dishonest act. Still he could not make up his mind to return it, at least not then. James did not return the half-dollar, but spent it to his own gratification. After he had done this it came suddenly into his head that Mr. Carman had only been trying him, and he was filled with anxiety and alarm. Not long after Mr. Carman repeated the same mistake. James kept the half-dollar with less hesitation. “Let him correct his own mistakes,” said he resolutely; “that’s the doctrine he acts on with other people, and he can’t complain if he gets paid in the same coin he puts in circulation. I just wanted half a dollar.” From this time the fine moral sense of James Lewis was blunted. He had taken an evil counselor into his heart, stimulated a spirit of covetousness—latent in almost every mind—which caused him to desire the possession of things beyond his ability to obtain. James had good business qualifications, and so pleased Mr. Carman by his intelligence, industry, and tact with customers, that he advanced him rapidly, and gave him, before he was eighteen years of age, the most reliable position in the store. But James had learned something more from his employer than how to do business well. He had learned to be dishonest. He had never forgotten the first lesson he had received in his bad science; he had acted upon it, not only in two instances, but in a hundred, and almost always to the injury of Mr. Carman. He had long since given up waiting for mistakes to be made in his favor, but originated them in the varied and complicated transactions of a large business in which he was trusted implicitly. James grew sharp, cunning, and skillful; always on the alert; always bright, and ready to meet any approaches towards a discovery106 of his wrong-doing by his employer, who held him in the highest regard. Thus it went on until James Lewis was in his twentieth year, when the merchant had his suspicions aroused by a letter that spoke of the young man as not keeping the most respectable company, and as spending money too freely for a clerk on a moderate salary. Before this time James had removed his mother into a pleasant house, for which he paid a rent of four hundred dollars; his salary was eight hundred, but he deceived his mother by telling her it was fifteen hundred. Every comfort that she needed was fully supplied, and she was beginning to feel that, after a long and painful struggle with the world, her happier days had come. James was at his desk when the letter was received by Mr. Carman. He looked at his employer and saw him change countenance suddenly. He read it over twice, and James saw that the contents produced disturbance. Mr. Carman glanced towards the desk, and their eyes met; it was only for a moment, but the look that James received made his heart stop beating. There was something about the movements of Mr. Carman for the rest of the day that troubled the young man. It was plain to him that suspicion had been aroused by that letter. Oh, how bitterly now did he repent, in dread of discovery and punishment, the evil of which he had been guilty! Exposure would disgrace and ruin him, and bow the head of his widowed mother even to the grave. “You are not well this evening,” said Mrs. Lewis, as she looked at her son’s changed face across the table, and noticed that he did not eat. “Perhaps a rest will make you feel better.” “I’ll lie down on the sofa in the parlor for a short time.” Mrs. Lewis followed him into the parlor in a little while, and, sitting down on the sofa on which he was lying, placed her hand upon his head. Ah, it would take more than the loving pressure of a mother’s hand to ease the pain from which he was suffering. The touch of that pure hand increased the pain to agony. “Do you feel better?” asked Mrs. Lewis. She had remained some time with her hand on his forehead. “Not much,” he replied, and rising as he spoke, he added, “I think a walk in the open air will do me good.” “Don’t go out, James,” said Mrs. Lewis, a troubled feeling coming into her heart. “I’ll only walk a few squares.” And James went from the parlor and passed into the street. “There is something more than headache the matter with him,” thought Mrs. Lewis. For half an hour James walked without any purpose in his mind beyond the escape from the presence of his mother. At last his walk brought him near Mr. Carman’s store, and at passing he was surprised at seeing a light within. “What can this mean?” he asked himself, a new fear creeping, with its shuddering impulse, into his heart. He listened by the door and windows, but he could hear no sound within. “There’s something wrong,” he said, “what can it be? If this is discovered what will be the end of it? Ruin! ruin! My poor mother!” The wretched young man hastened on, walked the streets for two hours, when he returned home. His mother met him when he entered, and with unconcealed anxiety, asked him if he were better. He said yes, but in a manner that only increased the trouble she felt, and passed up hastily to his own room. In the morning the strangely altered face of James as he met his mother at the breakfast table struck alarm into her heart. He was silent, and evaded all her questions. While they sat at the table the door bell rung loudly. The sound startled James, and he turned his head to listen, in a nervous way. “Who is it?” asked Mrs. Lewis. “A gentleman who wishes to see Mr. James,” replied the girl. James rose instantly and went out into the hall, shutting the dining-room door as he did so. Mrs. Lewis sat waiting her son’s return. She heard him coming back in a few moments; but he did not enter the dining-room. Then he returned along the hall to the street door and she heard it shut. All was silent. Starting up, she ran into the passage, but110 James was not there. He had gone away with the person who called. Ah, that was a sad going away. Mr. Carman had spent half the night in examining the account of James, and discovered frauds of over six thousand dollars. Blindly indignant, he sent an officer to arrest him early in the morning; and it was with this officer that he went away from his mother, never to return. “The young villain shall lie in the bed he has made for himself!” exclaimed Mr. Carman, in his bitter indignation. And he made the exposure completely. At the trial he showed an eager desire to have him convicted, and presented such an array of evidence that the jury could not give any other verdict than guilty. The poor mother was in court, and audibly in the silence that followed came her convulsed sobs upon the air. The presiding Judge addressed the culprit, and asked if he had anything to say why the sentence should not be pronounced against him. All eyes were turned upon the pale, agitated young man, who rose with an effort, and leaned111 against the railing by which he stood, as if needing the support. “Will it please your honors,” he said, “to direct my prosecutor to come a little nearer, so that I can look at him and your honor at the same time.” Mr. Carman was directed to come forward to where the boy stood. James looked at him steadily for a few moments, and turned to the judges. “What I have to say to your honors is this” (he spoke calmly and distinctly), “and it may in a degree extenuate, though it cannot excuse, my crime. I went into that man’s store an innocent boy, and if he had been an honest man I would not have stood before you to-day as a criminal!” Mr. Carman appealed to the court for protection against an allegation of such an outrageous character; but he was peremptorily ordered to be silent. James went on in a firm voice,— “Only a few weeks after I went into his employment I examined a bill by his direction, and discovered an error of twenty dollars.” The face of Mr. Carman crimsoned. “You remember it, I see,” remarked James, “and I shall have cause to remember it as long as I live. The error was in favor of Mr. Carman. I asked if I should correct the figures, and he answered ‘No; let them correct their own mistakes. We don’t examine bills for other people’s benefit.’ It was my first lesson in dishonesty. I saw the bill settled, and Mr. Carman take twenty dollars that was not his own. I felt shocked at first; it seemed such a wrong thing. But soon after he called me a simpleton for handing back a fifty-dollar bill to the teller of a bank, which he had overpaid me on a check, and then— “May I ask the protection of the Court?” said Mr. Carman. “Is it true what the lad says?” asked the presiding Judge. Mr. Carman hesitated and looked confused. All eyes were on his face; and judges and jury, lawyers and spectators, felt certain that he was guilty of leading the unhappy young man astray. “Not long afterward,” resumed Lewis, “in receiving my wages I found that Mr. Carman had paid me fifty cents too much. I was113 about to give it back to him, when I remembered his remark about letting people correct their own mistakes, and said to myself, ‘let him correct his own errors,’ and dishonestly kept the money. Again the same thing happened, and I kept the money that did not of right belong to me. This was the beginning of evil, and here I am. If he had shown any mercy, I might have kept silent and made no defense.” The young man covered his face with his hands, and sat down overpowered with his feelings. His mother who was near him sobbed aloud, and bending over, laid her hands on his head, saying:— “My poor boy! my poor boy!” There were few eyes in the court-room undimmed. In the silence that followed Mr. Carman spoke out:— “Is my character to be thus blasted on the word of a criminal, your honors? Is this right?” “Your solemn oath that this charge is untrue,” said the Judge, “will place you in the right.” It was the unhappy boy’s only opportunity, and the court felt bound in humanity to hear him. James Lewis stood up again instantly, and turned his white face and dark, piercing eyes upon Mr. Carman. “Let him take his oath if he dare!” he exclaimed. Mr. Carman consulted with his counsel, and withdrew. After a brief conference with his associates, the presiding Judge said, addressing the criminal:— “In consideration of your youth, and the temptation to which in tender years you were unhappily subject, the Court gives you the slightest sentence, one year’s imprisonment. But let me solemnly warn you against any further steps in the way you have taken. Crime can have no valid excuse. It is evil in the sight of God and man, and leads only to suffering. When you come forth again after your brief incarceration, may it be with the resolution to die rather than commit crime!” And the curtain fell on that sad scene in the boy’s life. When it was lifted again, and he came forth from prison a year afterwards, his mother was dead. From the day her pale face faded from his vision as he115 passed from the court-room, he never looked upon her again. Ten years afterward a man was reading a newspaper in a far Western town. He had a calm, serious face, and looked like one who had known suffering and trial. “Brought to justice at last!” he said to himself, as the blood came to his face; “convicted on the charge of open insolvency, and sent to State Prison. So much for the man who gave me in tender years the first lessons in ill-doing. But, thank God! the other lessons have been remembered. ‘When you come forth again,’ said the Judge, ‘may it be with the resolution to die rather than commit a crime!’ and I have kept this injunction in my heart when there seemed no way of escaping except through crime; and God helping me, I will keep it to the end.