Anecdotes for Boys Part 3

Quarrelling generally arises from selfishness and anger. Selfishness is grasping. It respects not the rights of others. It will yield none of its own. The selfish person is therefore continually coming in conflict with others; and, as impediments are thrown in the way of his gratification, his pa.s.sions are roused. Anger is a species of insanity.

When one yields to his pa.s.sions, he loses self-control. He takes an enemy into his bosom, and suffers himself to be nosed about by him at will. No one can tell what dreadful thing he may do when once he gives a loose rein to his pa.s.sions.

"The beginning of strife is as the letting out of waters." When you open a little drain to a pond of water, it runs slowly at first, in a very small stream; but the body of water above rushes into the channel and wears it deeper, and that increases the pressure and widens it still more, till presently the whole body comes pouring forth in an irresistible torrent. One dry season, in the summer, a man in Vermont, who owned a mill, on a small stream near a large pond, found his water failing, so that his mill was likely to stop. To prevent this, he collected together a few of the neighbors, and dug a little trench from the pond to the stream that carried his mill. At first it ran very slowly and quietly along, till it began to wear away the channel, and to turn the force of the body of water in the pond in that direction, when it increased violently, tore away the banks, and poured the whole contents of the pond into the little stream, carried off the mill, and rushed on with impetuous fury through the valley, sweeping away fences, bridges, barns, houses, and every thing that came in its way.

At a place called _Brag Corner_, in the State of Maine, a small stream falls into the Sandy river, on which a superior grist-mill was erected a few years since. The stream not affording water enough, a pond containing fifty or one hundred acres, having no outlet, and lying two hundred feet above the level where the mill stood, was connected with the stream that carried the mill by an artificial ca.n.a.l. The water of the pond began to gully away the gravel over which it was made to run, and having formed a regular channel, defied all human control, and, in the s.p.a.ce of six hours, cut a ravine seventy feet deep, and let out the whole pond, sweeping away the mill, foundation and all, and carrying away a house and blacksmith's shop, which stood near, not giving the owner time to save any thing of consequence from his house.

Such, Solomon says, is strife. When you begin to quarrel, you know not where it will end. It not unfrequently terminates in the death of one of the parties, as in the following case: A boy about eleven years of age, son of Mr. Philip Petty, of Westport, R. I., took his father's gun, as he said, to go a gunning. His elder brother attempted to take it from him. A quarrel ensued, between the two brothers, and in the course of the scuffle, the gun went off and lodged the contents in the younger one's bowels. He lingered a few hours in great agony and died. How must the other one feel, to think that the quarrel, which he began, led to the death of his brother. How much safer to take Solomon's advice, and "leave off contention before it be meddled with."

_Danger of Indulging anger._

Frederick Jones was the son of a rich manufacturer. His father being engrossed in business, the children were left to the care of their mother, who, being a weak woman, did not restrain them as she ought.

There were four, but three of them died; and Frederick being left the only child, was indulged still more. At a very early age he showed his angry temper; and he became such a little tyrant that the very dogs and cats about the house were afraid of him. Once, when he was three years old, he insisted that he would have the silver tea-urn, to drag about the room by a string for his coach. And, because his mother refused to let him do so, he seized her cap and tore it from her head.

When Frederick was ten years old, he went into the kitchen, where the servants used to let him do as he pleased for fear of his dreadful temper; for they called him "_Mamma's pet lion_." He had not been long there before he upset the table, knocked down the shovel and tongs, and broke several plates. Not satisfied with this, he collected all the tin things in the middle of the floor, and began battering them with the tongs. The cook, not being very well pleased with this destruction, undertook to lead him out of the kitchen. But the little fury, by shrieking and scratching, got free, and seizing a fork, he threw it at the cook, which struck her in the eye and put it out. Thus, by the foolish anger of this little boy, a poor woman lost the sight of her eye entirely. This shows the danger of indulging angry pa.s.sions; for no one knows what a dreadful deed he may commit in a fit of anger. It shows also the danger of throwing things at others. It is a very dangerous practice, and sometimes leads to the loss of life.

A little while after this, Frederick was playing at the front door of the house, when a boy pa.s.sing on the other side of the street, called out, "Hallo, Master Fred., have you put any more people's eyes out lately?" This was enough to make him angry. He immediately picked up a large stone, and chasing the boy some distance, threw it at him with all his might. The boy was out of the way of the stone, but it struck a large bull-dog, which, naturally enough, concluded that he was unjustly attacked, and turning upon Frederick, gave him a severe bite in the leg, and tossed him into the gutter. Frederick roared aloud with pain and rage, and had to be carried home to his bed, where he lay for several weeks. But n.o.body pitied him. The people who heard of it, knowing his temper, thought the dog had done a praiseworthy act.

After this, Frederick's father sent him to a boarding school, about twenty miles from home, to a very strict master. Here he was in continual broils with his school-fellows. There was scarcely a boy in the school with whom he did not have a fight. But generally he came off with a bleeding nose or a black eye, because his pa.s.sions took away his strength, and the other boys were an overmatch for him. His schoolmates generally did not like to fight; but this angry boy would fly at them for the most trifling thing, and force them to defend themselves.

Frederick's father died before he was twenty years of age; and as he loved amus.e.m.e.nt better than business, he sold the manufactory, and travelled in Europe; where he was very dissipated, and fought two duels, in both of which he was wounded. During his absence, his mother had become a good woman; and on his return, he found her company disagreeable. She entreated him to break off his evil courses. But this only made him angry. To get rid of her reproofs, he left her and went to one of the Western States. There, while he was engaged at a public house, with some of his wicked companions, talking politics, one of them called him a liar, and he drew out his dirk and stabbed him to the heart. He ran away from the place, but the image of the murdered man haunted him day and night, and made him wretched. He gave himself up to intoxication, and at the age of twenty-three years, fell into a drunkard's grave, some time after his mother had died of a broken heart on his account. All this came upon Frederick, in consequence of not restraining his pa.s.sions while a boy. His violent, ungovernable temper might have been subdued, when he was a child; but by indulgence it increased in strength, till it became perfectly unmanageable.

_Be kind to your sister._

The following affecting story, which is given in the language of the brother himself, will admonish every boy who reads it, to be kind to his sisters, and especially to avoid blows on the head, as it is probable the blow given this little girl by her brother was the cause of her death. What a shame for a brother to strike his sister!

"One morning in my early life, I remember to have been playing with my younger sister, not then three years old. It was one of those bright mornings in spring, that bring joy and life to the heart, and diffuse gladness and animation through all the tribes of living creatures. Our feelings were in perfect harmony with the universal gladness of nature.

Even now I seem to hear the merry laugh of my little sister, as she followed me through the winding alleys of the garden, her cheek suffused with the glow of health and animation, and her waving hair floating in the wind.

"She was an only sister, the sole companion of all my childish sports.

We were constantly together; and my young heart went out to hers, with all the affection, all the fondness, of which childhood is capable.

Nothing afforded me enjoyment in which she did not partic.i.p.ate; no amus.e.m.e.nt was sought which we could not share together.

"That morning we had prolonged our play till near the hour of breakfast, with undiminished ardor, when at some slight provocation, my impetuous nature broke forth, and in my anger, I _struck_ my little sister a blow with my hand. She turned to me with an appealing look, and the large tears came into her eyes. Her heart was too full to allow her to speak, and shame made me silent. At that moment the breakfast bell summoned us away, and we returned to the house without exchanging a word. The excitement of play was over, and as she sat beside my mother at breakfast, I perceived by occasional stolen glances at her that she was pale and sad. A tear seemed ready to start in her eye, which her little self-possession could scarcely repress. It was only when my mother inquired if she was ill, that she endeavored to eat. I was ashamed and grieved, and inwardly resolved to embrace the first opportunity when we were alone, to throw my arms round her neck and entreat her forgiveness.

"When breakfast was ended, my mother retired with her into her own room, directing me in the meantime to sit down to my lesson. I seated myself by the window, and ran over my lesson, but did not learn it. My thoughts were perpetually recurring to the scene in the garden and at table. It was long before my mother returned, and when she did, it was with an agitated look, and hurried step, to tell me that my poor Ellen was very ill. I asked eagerly if I might go to her, but was not permitted, lest I should disturb her. A physician was called and every means used for her recovery, but to no purpose. The disease, which was in her head, constantly increased in violence, and she became delirious. It was not until evening that I was permitted to see her. She was a little recovered from the severity of her pain, and lay with her eyes closed, and her little hand resting on the pillow beneath her head. How I longed to tell her the sorrow I felt for my unkindness to her in the morning and how much I had suffered for it during the day. But I was forbidden to speak to her, and was soon taken out of the room. During that night and the day following, she continued to grow worse. I saw her several times, but she was always insensible of my presence. Once indeed, she showed some signs of consciousness, and asked for me; but immediately relapsed into her former state.

"On the morning of the third day, I rose at an early hour, and repaired to the sick room. My mother was sitting by the bed. As I entered, she drew me to her, and for some time was silent, while the tears flowed fast down her face. I first learned that my sweet sister was dead, as my mother drew aside the curtain that concealed her from me. I felt as though my heart would break. The remembrance of her affection for me, and my last unkind deed, revived in my mind; and burying my face in the folds of the curtain, I wept long and bitterly.

"I saw her laid in the coffin, and lowered into the grave. I almost wished to lie down there with her, if so I might see once more her smile and hear my forgiveness in her sweet voice.

"Years have pa.s.sed away and I am now a man--but never does the recollection of this incident of my early life fail to awaken bitter feelings of grief and remorse. And never do I see my young friends exchanging looks or words of anger, without thinking of my last pastime with my own loved Ellen."

_Teazing and being teazed._

Some children take great delight in teazing. The way to avoid such annoyances is, to take no notice of them. Respect yourself too much to be disturbed by those who disregard the common courtesies of life. If they find they cannot teaze you, they will cease to make the attempt.

The late Dr. Bowditch (a man who attained to great eminence, as a man of learning and science), was the son of a poor sailor. His parents were so poor that he was obliged to wear his summer clothes to school, during the whole winter. His schoolmates would sometimes laugh at him, because he wore such thin clothes. But they could never make him angry, or disturb his equanimity. All the notice he took of their jeers was, to laugh at them for thinking that he was unable to bear the cold. If you follow his example, you will never suffer much from being teazed.

CHAPTER IV.

BAD COMPANY AND BAD HABITS.

Do you remember what Solomon says about bad company? "Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men. For they sleep not except they have done mischief; and their sleep is taken away, unless they cause some to fall."

Mr. Green, the Reformed Gambler, relates that, at the age of sixteen, he was laboring industriously, in the city of Cincinnati, and saving his wages. But he became acquainted with a bad set of boys, who visited a ten-pin alley. In his leisure hours, instead of spending his time in reading and treasuring up useful knowledge, he would frequent this den of iniquity; and Sabbath days, instead of going to meeting, he would go with the same set of boys to a place of amus.e.m.e.nt and sin, a little way out of the city. In a short time, this evil company had erased every tender affection from his bosom. On one of these misspent Sabbaths, he fell in with a rough set of lawless boys, and got into a fight with them, and was seen thus engaged by the city marshal.

The next morning, a stranger, whom he met at his boarding house, inquired of him respecting the different places of amus.e.m.e.nt in the city, and he took him to the ten-pin alley, where he was in the habit of going. While they were there, engaged in bowling, a man came staggering in, to all appearance, half drunk. He pulled out three thimbles, and tried to find some one to play with him for drink. This is a swindler's game, through which he picks the pockets of fools, by persuading them to bet that they can tell under which of three thimbles he places a ball.

It is all a cheat. The landlord played and won, and the man appeared very angry; but this was only a bait, to blind the eyes of the young men, and induce them to bet. They were caught; and they lost what money they had, Mr. Green two dollars, and the stranger, twenty-five. They tried in vain to get back their money. At length, the man who was with Green went to the Mayor's office, and related the story; and the city marshal, having seen Green the day before engaged in a fight, suspected that he was leagued with the gamblers, and had him arrested; and though no proof was brought against him, he was fined and sent to jail. There he was kept for several months, in company with counterfeiters, murderers, highwaymen, and gamblers, whose princ.i.p.al amus.e.m.e.nt was card-playing; when he was discharged penniless, in rags, and with a bad character. This was the commencement of his career of vice, his reformation from which is the next thing to a miracle. All this came upon him in consequence of keeping bad company. Learn from it to avoid evil company and _betting_. The boy that suffers himself to _bet_ the smallest amount, has already entered the downhill road of the gambler's career. And there is no evil that can be named but he may be drawn into, who begins to keep bad company. You might as well expect to go into _lazarhouse_, without being infected, as to go into bad company, and not fall into evil habits.

_Profaneness._

Perhaps there is no bad company to which boys are more exposed than the _profane_; and none which is more corrupting. Young people insensibly fall into the habits of those with whom they a.s.sociate. If they hear them interlard their conversation with by-words and oaths, they will be strongly tempted to do the same. They will begin, perhaps, with by-words and little oaths, which show a disposition to be profane, without courage to carry it out. But they will not long stop here. They will soon overcome the chidings of conscience, and then they can be as foul-mouthed as any of their companions. This vice hardens the heart, and prepares it for every other; for he who despises G.o.d will despise man. He who takes the name of G.o.d in vain, will not hesitate to break all his commandments. Profaneness is one of the meanest of all vices. It involves every thing that is little and mean. It is treating with the utmost indignity our Greatest Benefactor. It is a kind of gratuitous wickedness; for there is no motive for it but a disposition to do evil.

The profane boy is a dangerous companion. He will lead you into you know not what mischief and difficulty. The only way is to avoid him, as you would a black snake, or a person that has the small pox. If you go with him, he will, most likely, lead you to ruin.

_Was.h.i.+ngton's opinion of profaneness_.

No _gentleman_ will use profane language. It is an outrage upon good manners. No one can be called a gentleman, who is guilty of it. It is a vice that has always been held in detestation by the great and the good.

General Was.h.i.+ngton would never allow it in his army. In 1757, while a colonel, at Fort c.u.mberland, when he was a young man, he issued an order, expressing his "great displeasure," at the prevalence of profane cursing and swearing, and threatening those who were guilty of it with severe punishment. The day after he took the command of the Revolutionary army he issued a similar order. In August, 1776, he issued another order against this vice, in which he speaks of it as "a vice so _mean and low_, without any temptation, that every man of sense and character detests and despises it." He also strictly forbade gaming and drunkenness.

_Howard's opinion of Swearers_.

Howard, the Philanthropist, standing in the street, heard some dreadful oaths and curses from a public house opposite. Having occasion to go across, he first b.u.t.toned up his pocket, saying to a by-stander, "I always do this, when I hear men swear, as I think that any one who can take G.o.d's name in vain, can also steal, or do any thing else that is bad."

G.o.d has set a mark upon this vice. He not unfrequently punishes it, by directly answering the prayer that is profanely uttered. J. H. was a notorious swearer. He had a singular habit of calling on G.o.d to curse his eyes. After some years, this awful imprecation was verified. He was afflicted with a disease in his eyes, which terminated in total blindness. This so affected his general system, that he gradually sunk under it, and went to give up his account. A number of similar cases, some of them still more awful, you will find in the tract ent.i.tled, "The Swearer's Prayer."

_Playing Truant_.

Playing truant when sent to school, is almost always the means of getting into bad company; and bad company leads to ruin. A boy thirteen years old, was brought before the police court in Boston, charged with stealing a gold pen from a lawyer's office. He had been in the habit of coming into the offices, in the building, and selling apples. The gentleman from whom he stole the pen had furnished him money to fill his basket; and he returned his kindness by stealing his pen, which was worth three dollars. His mother appeared before the court, and plead earnestly for her boy, saving that he was a good boy to her, except that he _played truant from school_. He then got into the company of a gang of boys, who peddle apples,--a thievish set,--and of them he also learned to steal. He was sent to the House of Reformation; which is a prison for boys, where they are kept at work and study, but not allowed their liberty.

_Ruin of a Deacon's son._

Several years ago, a young man about twenty years of age, filthy in his appearance, and shabbily dressed, called at the house of a clergyman in the city of New York. His countenance, though haggard, bore the marks of intelligence. The young man said he had been at his church the previous evening, and was desirous of having some conversation with the minister.

He was requested to open his mind freely. He said he was the son of a deacon of a Congregational church in Connecticut. His father was a man of property and influence, and he himself had always moved in the most respectable society. He had come to New York in order to become acquainted with business, and prepare himself for an active and useful life. But he soon found himself surrounded with new temptations, without the restraining influences of home and friends. He fell into bad company. His vicious a.s.sociates led him to the theatre, and when his pa.s.sions were excited by what he saw, and stimulated by intoxicating liquors, he was persuaded to visit places of infamy and crime. These indulgences called for more money than he could honestly obtain; but his appet.i.tes, once excited, could not be easily restrained; and he had recourse to his employer's money drawer to supply the deficiency. He eased his conscience, in this act, and deceived himself, with the hope of repaying it before he was detected. But in this he was mistaken. He was detected, tried, found guilty, and sentenced to the penitentiary for six months. He had now been out of prison a week, during which time he had been wandering about the city, ashamed to be seen or known. He had come to ask advice. The clergyman advised him by all means to go home to his father; a.s.suring him that it was his only hope, for if he remained in the city, he would fall into the company of his old a.s.sociates and be ruined. With the deepest agony, he exclaimed, "How can I ever return to my father's house? How can I ever meet him or the virtuous companions of my youth? No! No! I am fallen--disgraced! I have been a felon, and in prison! No, I would rather die a vagabond in the street, than to see the face of my father, or the faces of the young people, who were my a.s.sociates in the days when I felt myself as good as they." He was yet unhumbled. He was yet unwilling, like the prodigal, to return to his father's house. However, after much persuasion, he promised that the next morning he would set off for home. But he had not the moral courage to fulfil his purpose. He was ashamed to arise and go to his father. He continued to roam about the streets, and was again detected in stealing.

This anecdote shows not only the danger of bad company, but the peril of young men who go from the country to the city to engage in business.

They had better remain at home, unless their principles are firmly established upon the foundation of true religion. There is nothing to be gained in the city that is worth the exposure of morals and character.

_Bad Books._

Books are company; and the company of bad books is as dangerous as the company of bad boys or bad men. Goldsmith, who was a novel-writer of some note, writing to his brother about the education of a nephew, says, "_Above all things never let your nephew touch a novel or a romance_."

An opinion given in such a manner must have been an honest opinion. And, as he knew the character of novels, and had no nice scruples on the subject of religion, his opinion ought to have great weight.

_An Example for boys._

A boy in London, in dest.i.tute circ.u.mstances, was put out as an apprentice to a mechanic. It is the business of the youngest apprentice to do all the errands and drudgery of the establishment, and frequently of his master's family also. He was often sent by the workmen and older apprentices, to procure intoxicating liquors for them; of which all of them partook, except himself, because, as they said, it did them good.